^^0,^\ 


V^\t)?^ 


Columbia  Bnitjersitp 
inrtjeCitpofiSettjgorfe 


LIBRARY 


HISTORY  OF  THE  AMERICAN  FIELD 
SERVICE  IN  FRANCE 


Marechal  Joffre 


c? 


\iluru>  A    23     Mara     --^^  9» 


C'est  aux  actes  qu*on  reconnalt 
les  vrais  amis.  A  friend  in  need  is  a 
friend  indeed^- 

Quelles  autrea  paroles  pourrait- 
on  inscrire  au  frontispice  de  ce  livre 
"Les  Amis  de  la  France",  vrai  br^viaire 
d'h^roique  charity  et  de  joyeuse  abne- 
gation. 

En  feuilletant  ces  pages  je  crois 
entendre  la  voix  de  oes  railliers  de 
blesses  francjais  ramass^s  sur  les 
bords  de  la  Marne  par  les  ambulances 
de  1' "American  Pield  Service",  deacen- 
dus  des  pontes  de  I'Hartmannsweiler, 
tir^s  des  boues  de  la  Flandre,  arra- 
ch6s  k  I'enfer  de  Verdun.  Qu'il  soit 
permis  k  un  ami  de  I'Am^rique  de  se 
fairs  ici  leur  interprete  et  de  dire 
aux  "Amis  de  la  France"  k  oes  hardis 
volontaires  d» Avant-aarde,  la  gratitu- 
de infinie  de  son  Pays. 


History  of  the 
American  Field  Service  in  France 


"Friends  of  France" 
1914-1917 

TOLD  BY  ITS  MEMBERS 

WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS 

Volume  I 


13M  _  191/. 


Boston  and  New  York 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

The  Riverside  Press  Cambridge 
1920 


COPYRIGHT,  1920,  BY  HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


^ 


TO 

OUR,  MOTHERS 

before  whose  silent  Sacrifice, 
deep  hidden  in  their  HeartSy 
our  Part  seems  mere  Adventure. 


^^4 

^  '?'?^' 


pu 


PREFATORY  NOTE 


The  American  Field  Service,  as  a  group  of  youths  serving 
the  French  Army  in  the  Great  War,  is  a  thing  of  the 
past.  And  this  is  its  history.  The  reader  must  not  assume, 
however,  that  the  American  Field  Service  no  longer 
exists,  or  that  there  will  never  be  occasion  for  record 
of  its  further  accomplishment.  Although  the  members 
when  they  enlisted  in  1915,  191 6,  and  191 7,  only  pledged 
themselves  to  the  French  Army  for  a  limited  period,  it 
is  within  the  truth  to  state  that,  whether  or  not  they 
realized  it  at  the  time,  they  enlisted  for  life  in  the  service 
of  France. 

Even  before  this  record  has  gone  to  the  press,  and  while 
the  United  States  is  still  nominally  at  war,  the  peace 
plans  of  the  Field  Ser\ace  are  well  under  way  —  plans  for 
the  perpetuation  under  its  auspices  of  fraternal  relations 
among  French  and  American  youth  for  generations  to 
come.  A  series  of  American  Field  Service  fellowships  for 
American  students  in  French  Universities  has  already 
been  established,  and  projects  have  been  formulated 
which  it  is  hoped  will  ultimately  result  in  securing  a 
permanent  endowment  for  a  Field  Service  fellowship 
in  memory  of  each  and  every  one  of  the  one  hundred 
and  twenty-six  Field  Service  men  who  gave  their  lives 
during  the  war  —  either  a  fellowship  for  an  American 
student  in   a   French  university,  or  a  fellowship  for  a 

vii 


PREFATORY  NOTE 


French  student  in  an  American  university.  These  fellow- 
ships not  only  will  furnish  fitting  memorials  of  the  Field 
Service  men  whose  lives  were  sacrificed  to  the  Allied 
Cause,  but  will  give  living  and  enduring  impulse  to  the 
advancement  of  understanding  and  friendship  between 
France  and  the  United  States,  which  was  ever  the  funda- 
mental Field  Service  aim. 

The  section  histories,  diaries,  letters,  and  sketches  com- 
prising these  volumes,  are  entirely  the  contributions  of 
men  who  were  part  of  the  American  Field  Service.  Many 
of  these  were  collected  at  the  Paris  headquarters  during 
the  early  days,  but  it  was  not  until  the  Service  ceased  to 
exist  as  a  volunteer  organization  that  any  effort  was  made 
to  compile  them  with  a  view  to  producing  a  complete 
record  comprising  all  the  activities  of  the  Service.  While 
the  volume  published  under  the  name  of  Friends  of 
France,  in  191 6,  contained  numerous  accounts  of  the 
work  of  the  early  days  —  many  of  them  being  here  re- 
printed —  that  volume  was  of  necessity  more  or  less  pro- 
visional and  incomplete.  The  aim  of  these  volumes  is  to 
fill  in  the  gaps  and  finish  the  story,  to  give  the  final  rec- 
ord of  all  the  sections,  new  as  well  as  old,  and  of  the 
work  of  the  many  hundreds  of  younger  volunteers  as 
well  as  of  the  pioneers  of  191 5  and  191 6. 

As  in  Friends  of  France  the  stories  of  the  several  sec- 
tions have  been  composed  in  the  main  of  excerpts  from 
articles,  diaries,  and  home  letters  of  different  members, 
a  method  of  composition  necessarily  involving  some  du- 
plication and  incoherence.  It  is  believed,  however,  that 
this  is  compensated  for  by  the  veracity  of  the  first-hand 
material  so  presented,  and  that  whatever  the  history 
may  have  lost  in  smoothness  and  unity  is  offset  by  a  gain 
in  sincerity,  animation,  and  originality. 

Among  those  to  whom  thanks  are  due  for  successively 
assisting  in  the  compilation  of  this  work  are  Dr.  Ray- 
mond Weeks,  of  the  Paris  staff,  Mr.  Frank  J.  Taylor, 
of  Section  Ten,   Mr.   Theodore  Stanton   and   Captain 

viii 


PREFATORY  NOTE 


Arthur  J.  Putnam  and  Mr.  Robert  A.  Donaldson,  of  Sec- 
tion Seventy.  The  final  selection  and  revision  of  the  ma- 
terial has  been  mainly  the  work  of  Lieutenant  James 
W.  D.  Seymour,  of  Section  Seventeen. 

Grateful  appreciation  is  owing  to  the  French  artists 
Andre  Fraye,  Charles  Huard,  and  Bernard  Naudin,  and 
to  the  following  men  of  the  Field  Service,  Waldo  Peirce, 
S.S.U.  3,  C.  Le  Roy  Baldridge,  T.M.U.,  F.  L.  Sexton, 
S.S.U.  14,  George  W.  Hall,  S.S.U.  70,  and  Harry  de  Maine, 
who  contributed  the  many  drawings  which  decorate  and 
brighten  these  pages. 

To  those  men  of  the  Service  who  have  contributed 
articles,  poems,  and  photographs,  and  to  many  parents 
and  friends  who  have  aided  by  forwarding  material  from 
home  letters  and  diaries,  thanks  are  also  due. 

The  American  Field  Service 

April,  1920 


CONTENTS 
Volume  I 


PREFATORY  NOTE 


IX 


INTRODUCTION 

The  Field  Service 
Some  of  the  Early  Problems 
The  Effort  in  America 
The  Growth  of  the  Service 


A.  Piatt  Andrew 

A.  Piatt  Andrew 

Henry  D.  Sleeper 

Stephen  Galatti 


I 

3 
17 

38 
60 


THE  AMBULANCE  SECTIONS 

SECTION  ONE 

Henry  Sydnor  Harrison,  81.  Joshua  G.  B.  Campbell,  91. 
Tracy  J.  Putnam,  loi.  Robert  W.  Imbrie,  108.  Roy  H. 
Stockwell,  149.  John  H.  McFadden,  Jr.,  165.  W.  Yorke 
Stevenson,  168.  Edward  A.  G.  Wylie,  188. 


79 


SECTION  TWO  201 

James  R.  McConnell,  203.  Leslie  Buswell,  212.  Carlyle 
H.  Holt,  217.  Henry  Sheahan,  220.  Frank  H.  Gailor,  227. 
Edward  N.  Seccombe,  232  and  275.  Charles  Baird,  Jr., 
239.  John  R.  Fisher,  243.  William.  H.  C.  Walker,  248. 
John  E.  Boit,  251.  Henry  D.  M.  Sherrerd,  255.  Harmon 
B.  Craig,  259.  Ewen  Maclntyre,  Jr.,  272. 

xi 


CONTENTS 


SECTION  THREE  279 

Preston  Lockwood,  281.  Tracy  J.  Putnam,  291.  Waldo 
Peirce,  303.  Luke  C.  Doyle,  309.  Stephen  Galatti,  312. 
Walter  K.  Rainsford,  314  and  335.  Alwyn  Inness-Brown, 
318.  William  M.  Barber,  324.  Charles  R.  Codman,  Jr., 
335.  Edward  I.  Tinkham,  338.  Charles  Baird,  Jr.,  341 
and  382.  Lovering  Hill,  344,  366,  and  374.  Robert  W. 
Imbrie,  346  and  379.  Donald  C.  Armour,  367.  J.  Mar- 
quand  Walker,  369  and  376.  John  Munroe,  370.  Charles 
Amsden,  387.  John  N.  d'Este,  389. 

SECTION  FOUR  393 

George  Rockwell,  Jr.,  395.  Richard  C.  Ware,  399.  W. 
de  Ford  Bigelow,  419.  Leon  H.  Buckler,  429.  Charles  H. 
Hunkins,  433.  Hugh  J.  Kelleher,  436. 

SECTION  EIGHT  439 

William  B.  Seabrook,  441.  Malbone  H.  Birckhead,  455. 
Grenville  T.  Keogh,  457.  Charles  L.  Watkins,  468. 
Austin  B.  Mason,  470.  Harry  L.  Dunn,  475. 

SECTION  NINE  483 

George  R.  Cogswell,  485.  Carleton  Burr,  492.  William 
C.  Sanger,  Jr.,  496.  Harvey  C.  Evans,  505. 

THE  VOSGES  DETACHMENT  507 

Joseph  R.  Greenwood,  509. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Volume  I 

Letter  of  MareCHAL  JoFFRE  Frontispiece 

Funeral  of  Richard  Hall,  Christmas,  191 5  6 

A.  Piatt  Andrew  10 

Mysterious  Nights  at  Esnes  14 

Commandant  Doumenc  20 

Chart  of  Typical  Ambulance  Service  28 

The  Field  Service  Ambulance  34 

Henry  D.  Sleeper  38 

Robert  Bacon  42 

Andover  Men  who  Died  48 

Chart  of  Subscriptions  52 

Farewell  to  the  California  Units  54 

Stephen  Galatti  62 

The  Garden  at  21  Rue  Raynouard  70 

Map  of  Passy  {in  color)  76 

Dunkirk,  1915  92 

FlANT)ERS  —  AND  IT  DRIZZLED  I02 

Side- Panel  of  a  Section  One  Ambulance  {in  color)         112 

Vacherauville  near  Verdun  122 

Lending  a  Hand  at  a  "  Poste  "  122 

xiii 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Bloody  and  Silent,  but  not  Defeated  132 

The  "Poste"  at  Cappy,  the  Somme,  1916  132 

Shell-Pocked  Road  near  Douaumont  144 

Funeral  of  Howard  Lines  152 

A  Forest  in  Champagne  152 
General  Rageneau  Conferring  the  Legion  of  Honor 

UPON  Mr.  Andrew  158 

The  Gentle  Hand  of  the  Shell  166 

Ryan's  Car  at  Carriere  Sud  166 

The  Flag  of  Section  One  (i«  color)  178 

A  Muddy  Road  ant)  an  Exposed  "  Poste"  192 

Shells  on  the  Cote  de  Mousson  204 

An  Aeroplane  Duel  at  Pont-a-Mousson  204 

On  the  Road  to  Bois  le  Pretre  212 

Fontaine  du  Pere  Hilarion,  Bois  le  Pretre  212 

Camouflage  on  a  Road  220 

A  Railroad  Station  as  a  "Poste"  220 

Soup  Kitchens  Smoking  beside  the  Road  228 

Verdun  238 

The  Courtyard  at  the  Esnes  Chateau  238 

Marre  —  where  Kelley  was  Killed  248 

The  Stone  "Abri"  at  Marre  248 

Panel  of  a  Section  Two  Ambulance  {in  color)  260 

Dombasle-en-Argonne,  June,  191 7  270 

Street  'Xorvee,"  Fromereville  270 

What  Night  Trips  without  Lights  may  Mean  282 

The  Dangers  of  the  Road  282 

The  "  Poste"  near  Hartmannsweilerkopf  292 

Richard  Hall's  Grave  304 

Winter  Days  in  Alsace  310 

An  Underground  "Poste"  322 

Once  an  Avenue  of  Stately  Trees  322 

At  a  Dressing-Station  near  Verdun  332 

xiv 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Section  Three's  Camp  at  Sakulevo  346 

Type  of  Sketch  Map  Used  by  Drivers  354 

MoNASTiR  —  A  Little  Girl  Killed  362 

Road-Building  by  Members  of  Section  Three  362 

The  Encampment  at  Bistrika  370 

MoNASTiR  IN  Winter  376 

The  Burning  of  Monastir  388 

The  "Cat"  of  Section  "Quatre"  {in  color)  398 

Misfortunes  of  War!  408 

Section  Four  at  Ippecourt  408 

Service  in  Verdun  416 

Evacuation  Hospital  at  Glorieux  416 

Cars  at  Ippecourt  in  Winter  426 

G.B.D.  '*  Poste"  at  Bras,  above  Verdun  434 

**  Poste  "  at  Vacherauville  434 

Stretchers  Slung  between  Two  Wheels  ^/\y\ 

"Saucisse"  above  Verdun  454 

"ASSIS"  WAITING  AT  CaBARET  RoUGE  462 

Stretcher    Cases    Coming    into    the    "  Poste  "    at 

Cabaret  462 

The  Flag  of  Section  Eight  (in  color)  474 

One  of  our  Cars  in  Trouble  486 

Coffins  at  a  Hospital  in  Alsace  486 
General  Andlauer's  Letter  to  Section  Nine  '  492 
Breakfast  at  an  American  Field  Service  Kitchen       500 

Wooden-Barrack  Hospital  —  the  "Triage "  500 

"Le  Service  qui  ne  s'arrete  jamais"  512 

At  a  Mountain  " Poste"  in  Alsace  Reconquise  512 

Maps  in  Color  in  Pocket  at  End 
The  American  Field  Service  in  France,  1915,  1916,  1917 
The  American  Field  Service  in  the  Balkans 
Location  of  Sections  when  Federalized,  1917 


HISTORY  OF  THE  AMERICAN  FIELD 
SERVICE  IN  FRANCE 


hitroduction 

I  <^  II.  A.  Piatt  Andrew 

III.  Henry  D.  Sleeper 

IV.  Stephen  Galatti 


The  American  Field  Service 

in  France 
I 

THE  SERVICE 

Les  Etats  Unis  d'Amerique  n'ont  pas  oublie  que  la  premiere  page  de  I'histoire 
de  leur  independance  a  ete  ecrite  avec  un  peu  de  sang  frangais. 

Marechal  Joffre,  19 i6 

The  American  Field  Service  may  justly  claim  four  titles 
of  distinction.  It  anticipated  American  troops  on  the 
battle-fields  of  France  and  the  Balkans  by  more  than  two 
and  a  half  years ;  it  contributed  appreciably  during  these 
years  to  the  enlightenment  of  American  opinion  in  regard 
to  the  crucial  meaning  of  the  war;  it  furnished  subse- 
quently to  the  American  Expeditionary  Forces  a  small 
nucleus  of  officers  and  men  of  quality  and  devotion ;  and 
last,  but  not  least  from  the  viewpoint  of  its  members, 
it  had  the  happy  fortune  of  serving  with  and  being  part 
of  the  matchless  armies  of  France. 

It  is  worthy  of  remembrance  that  the  little  group  of 
American  volunteers  told  of  in  this  book,  numbering  at 
no  one  time  much  more  than  two  thousand,  formed,  for 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


the  first  three  years  of  the  Great  War,  the  most  consider- 
able organized  representation  which  the  United  States 
had  on  the  battle  front.  A  few  of  them  had  seen  serv^ice 
in  the  first  battle  of  the  Marne.in  September,  19 14,  and 
thereafter,  as  their  number  increased,  there  was  seldom 
an  important  battle  anywhere  along  the  French  front  in 
which  they  had  not  their  little  part. 

As  early  as  April,  19 15,  this  volunteer  service  was  or- 
ganized in  sections  of  twenty-five  or  thirty  men  on  the 
pattern  of  the  regular  ambulance  sections  of  the  French 
Army  and  incorporated  for  administrative  purposes  in 
the  Automobile  Service  of  that  army.  Each  section 
was  assigned  to  a  particular  division  of  the  army,  forming 
thereafter  an  integral  part  of  the  division,  being  so  con- 
sidered and  treated  by  its  troops  and  officers,  and  or- 
dinarily moving  by  road  or  by  train  from  one  sector  in 
the  line  to  another  with  the  division.  These  Field  Serv- 
ice ambulance  sections  multiplied  before  the  American 
Army  came  to  France  until  they  numbered  thirty-four, 
which  meant  that  an  equal  number  of  divisions  of  the 
French  Army  depended  upon  the  American  Field  Service 
for  practically  all  of  their  sanitary  transport.  It  may  be 
said  without  exaggeration  that  there  was  no  sector  in 
which  French  troops  serv^ed  where  they  were  not  known, 
and  that  there  was  scarcely  a  poihi  who  had  not  seen 
the  American  cars  and  who  had  not  formed  some  sort 
of  acquaintance  among  the  American  volunteer  drivers. 
In  191 5,  the  little  American  ambulances  driven  by  vol- 
unteers could  be  seen  scurrying  everywhere  over  the  fiat 
plains  of  Flanders  during  the  battles  of  Ypres  and  the 
Yser.  They  were  seen  also  on  the  w^ooded  hills  of  north- 
ern Lorraine  during  the  violent  engagements  in  Bois  le 
Pretre,  and  they  were  equally  familiar  in  the  mountains 
and  valleys  of  reconquered  Alsace  during  the  battles  of 
the  Fecht  and  Hartmannsweilerkopf. 

In  19 1 6,  throughout  the  prolonged  and  terrible  battle  of 
Verdun,  they  were  in  evidence  everywhere  in  that  sector 
from  the  Woevre  to  the  Argonne,  and  in  the  autumn  of 


INTRODUCTION 


that  year,  two  of  the  Field  Service  sections,  endowed  with 
double  equipment,  were  sent  to  the  Balkans,  where  they 
worked  during  the  following  year  with  the  French  troops 
in  the  mountainous  regions  of  northern  Greece,  Serbia, 
and  xA.lbania. 

The  year  191 7  found  Field  Service  sections  also  in 
every  great  engagement  from  the  April  battle  in  Cham- 
pagne to  the  October  battle  of  the  Chemin  des  Dames, 
and  during  this  latter  year  some  eight  hundred  additional 
volunteers  of  the  Field  Service,  organized  in  fourteen 
camion  sections,  were  engaged  in  the  transport  of  am- 
munition and  military  supplies  in  connection  with  the 
last-named  campaign.  All  of  this  occurred,  let  it  be  re- 
membered, while  the  United  States  was  officially  repre- 
sented on  the  front  by  only  an  occasional  military  attache 
or  observer. 

French  Appreciation 

The  actual  and  direct  service  to  France  of  these  men, 
when  measured  -by  the  monstrous  task  with  which  France 
had  to  cope  during  the  first  three  years  of  the  war,  was 
of  course  insignificant,  but  they  rendered  an  inestimable 
benefit  to  their  own  country,  for  they  helped  to  keep 
alive  in  France  the  old  feelings  of  friendship  and  of  re- 
spect for  us  which  had  existed  there  since  our  earliest 
days  and  which  otherwise  might  easily  have  disappeared. 
They  helped  to  demonstrate  to  the  soldiers  and  people  of 
France  that,  notwithstanding  official  silence  and  injunc- 
tions of  prudence,  Americans  had  already  begun  to  ap- 
preciate the  meaning,  not  only  to  France,  but  to  all  the 
world,  of  the  issues  that  were  at  stake,  and  that  many 
American  hearts  and  hopes  were  already  with  France  in 
her  gigantic  struggle. 

Numerous  and  appreciative  were  the  expressions  of 
this  assurance  by  representative  men  of  France  at  that 
time.  An  officer  upon  General  Joffre's  staff  in  December, 
19 16,  wrote  as  follows: 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


The  American  Field  Service  is  the  finest  flower  of  the  magni- 
ficent wreath  offered  by  the  great  America  to  her  Httle  Latin 
sister.  Those,  who  like  you  and  your  friends  have  consecrated 
themselves  entirely  to  our  cause,  up  to  and  including  the 
supreme  sacrifice,  deserve  more  than  our  gratitude.  We  can- 
not think  of  them  in  the  future  as  other  than  our  own. 

The  distinguished  statesman  and  historian,  Gabriel 
Hanotaux,  in  a  pubHc  address  of  about  the  same  date, 
paid  tribute  to  the  Field  Service  in  these  terms: 

Friends  of  France!  your  every  act,  your  every  heartbeat  of 
the  past  two  years  gives  the  proof!  You  have  left  everything 
to  live  among  us,  to  share  our  sorrows  and  our  joys,  to  aid  our 
soldiers  at  the  risk  of  your  own  lives.  Like  our  Joan  of  Arc  you 
have  felt ''the  great  pity  that  there  is  in  this  country  of  France." 
For  your  love  and  your  eagerness  to  help,  accept  our  benedic- 
tion. 

Monsieur  Jusserand,  Ambassador  of  France  to  the 
United  States,  sent  across  the  ocean  this  message  of 
gratitude : 

Lives  saved  by  thousands,  suffering  attenuated,  amputations 
avoided,  families  spared  their  fathers  for  after  the  war;  these 
form  only  a  part  of  the  French  debt  toward  the  American 
Field  Service. 

Scores  of  other  equally  representative  and  similarly 
grateful  tributes  might  be  quoted,  but  perhaps  no  more 
convincing  evidence  of  the  attitude  of  France  to  the  Field 
Service  is  to  be  found  than  the  fact  that  in  the  days  when 
American  troops  were  not  yet  on  the  front,  the  French 
Army  decorated  the  American  Field  Servdce  sections  no 
less  than  nineteen  times  and  conferred  either  the  Croix 
de  Guerre,  the  Legion  d  'Honneur,  or  the  Medaille  Militaire 
upon  no  less  than  two  hundred  and  fifty  of  their  mem- 
bers. 

This  is  perhaps  not  surprising  if  one  takes  account  of 
the  character  of  the  personnel.  For,  if  America  cannot 
take  pride  in  the  number  of  her  representatives  in  France 
during  the  first  three  years  of  the  war,  she  can  at  least 

6 


INTRODUCTION 


be  satisfied  with  their  quaHty.  I  doubt  whether  any 
other  such  group  of  men  could  have  been  found  in  any 
formation  in  any  of  the  armies  engaged  in  the  war.  The 
Enghsh  poet,  John  Masefield,  after  visiting  a  number 
of  Field  Service  sections  in  the  summer  of  191 6,  de- 
scribed them  as  including  "the  very  pick  and  flower  of 
American  youth."  Many  hundreds  of  the  members  were 
graduates  or  students  of  American  colleges  and  univer- 
sities and  many  bore  names  distinguished  in  American 
literary  and  political  history.  Some  of  .them  had  been 
business  men,  lawyers,  and  doctors;  some  had  been 
architects  and  bankers;  some  had  been  teachers;  and 
some  even  had  been  clergymen;  but,  not  willing  any 
longer  to  remain  inert  and  distant  onlookers  in  the 
great  world  struggle,  they  had  left  their  schools  and 
colleges,  their  offices,  shops,  and  pulpits  in  order  to 
come  to  France  and  do  what  they  could,  were  it  only 
in  the  most  humble  capacity,  to  help  her  armies.  Presi- 
dent Sills,  of  Bowdoin  College,  well  described  the  char- 
acter and  motives  of  the  early  Field  Service  volunteers 
in  his  inaugural  address  delivered  shortly  after  the  first 
contingent  of  the  United  States  Army  had  arrived  in 
France : 

Long  before  our  troops  were  in  France,  earlier  even  than  the 
messengers  of  mercy  from  the  Red  Cross  went  in  large  num- 
bers, the  drivers  in  the  American  Ambulance  Field  Service 
showed  France  that  chivalry  was  not  dead  in  America,  and  car- 
ried to  the  gallant  and  hard-pressed  French  people  the  sym- 
pathy of  the  United  States  that  was  never  neutral.  .  .  .  They 
anticipated  Pershing's  admirable  phrase,  "We  are  here,  Lafa- 
yette." And  while  among  them  and  in  the  Foreign  Legion  there 
were  many  athletes  and  many  with  technical  training,  there 
were  also  surprisingly  many  who  were  impelled  to  go  by  that 
idealism  that  is  bred  of  literature  and  science  and  art.  Some  of 
them,  like  that  noble  Dartmouth  lad  who  gave  his  life  Christ- 
mas night,  lie  there,  the  advance  guard  of  that  goodly  com- 
pany, 

"Who  gave  their  merry  youth  away 
For  the  Country  and  for  God." 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


The  Field  Service  and  American  Neutrality 

A  table  in  the  Appendix  shows  that  approximately 
two  thousand  of  the  Field  Ser\dce  volunteers  came  from 
one  or  another  of  more  than  a  hundred  different  American 
colleges,  Har\'ard  leading  the  list  with  three  hundred  and 
twenty-five  of  her  sons.  Scarcely  a  State  in  the  Union  was 
unrepresented  on  the  Field  Serv  ice  rolls,  and  certainly  no 
university  or  college  of  note.  It  was  in  fact  because  of 
this  that  the  organization  was  able  to  render  what  was 
probably  its  most  important  service  to  France  and  the  al- 
lied cause.  For  during  the  long  years  when  the  American 
Government  was  hesitating,  and  those  in  authority  were 
proclaiming  the  necessity  of  speaking  and  even  thinking 
in  neutral  terms,  and  w^hile  the  American  people  were 
slowly  accumulating  the  information  that  was  to  lead  to 
the  Great  Decision,  these  hundreds  of  American  youths 
already  in  France  were  busily  writing  and  agitating  in 
terms  that  were  not  neutral,  and  were  sending  to  their 
families  and  friends  throughout  the  Union,  to  their  home 
papers,  to  their  college  publications,  and  to  American 
weeklies  and  magazines  the  great  story  of  France  and 
her  prodigious  sacrifice.  At  a  Field  Ser\dce  gathering 
in  New  York  in  September,  191 6,  Theodore  Roosevelt 
summed  up  their  service  by  saying: 

There  is  not  an  American  worth  calling  such,  who  is  not 
under  a  heavy  debt  of  obligation  to  these  boys  for  what  they 
have  done.  We  are  under  an  even  greater  debt  to  them  than 
the  French  and  Belgians  are.  .  .  .  The  most  important  thing 
that  a  nation  can  possibly  save  is  its  soul,  and  these  young  men 
have  been  helping  this  nation  to  save  its  soul. 

By  personal  and  published  letters,  by  articles,  by  books, 
by  lectures,  by  photograph  and  cinematograph,  they 
were  bringing  the  war  ever  nearer  to  those  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Atlantic  and  by  the  organization  of  commit- 
tees in  almost  every  college  and  university  and  in  nearly 
every  city  and  tow^n  in  the  United  States,  they  were  de- 
veloping a  deeper  and  more  active  interest  in  American 

8 


INTRODUCTION 


participation.  This  was  the  aspect  of  the  Field  Service 
which  in  the  thought  of  those  of  us  who  were  privileged 
to  direct  it  seemed  heavily  to  outweigh  all  others.  Herein 
lay  by  all  counts  the  greatest  contribution  which  the  men 
of  the  Field  Service  could  make  and  did  make  to  France. 
Fortunately,  as  events  proved,  they  were  sowers  of  seed 
in  a  field  that  was  destined  to  yield,  not  merely  an  abun- 
dant but,  in  fact,  a  prodigious  harvest.  As  Coningsby 
Dawson  later  expressed  it: 

Long  before  April,  191 7,  American  college  boys  had  won  a 
name  by  their  devotion  in  forcing  their  ambulances  over  the 
shell-torn  roads  in  every  part  of  the  French  front.  The  report  of 
the  sacrificial  courage  of  these  pioneers  had  travelled  to  every 
State  of  the  Union.  Their  example  had  stirred,  shamed,  and 
educated  the  Nation.  It  Is  to  these  knight-errants  .  .  .  that  I 
attribute  America's  eager  acceptance  of  Calvary,  when,  at 
last,  it  was  offered  to  her  by  her  statesmen. 

The  Field  Service  and  the  U.S.  Army 

When  at  last  America  joined  forces  with  the  Allies,  and 
American  troops  were  sent  to  France,  they  found  the 
ambulance  and  transport  branches  of  the  American  Field 
Service  thoroughly  established  and  functioning  as  use- 
ful parts  of  the  French  Army.  The  ambulance  branch 
included  about  twelve  hundred  volunteers,  with  nearly 
a  thousand  ambulances  built  upon  a  model  developed  and 
perfected  in  the  course  of  its  three  years  of  active  servdce. 
It  had  Its  own  spacious  headquarters  and  reception  park 
in  the  heart  of  Paris,  Its  own  construction  and  repair 
park  and  supply  depot,  its  own  training-camp,  its  own 
share  In  the  French  automobile  officers'  school,  its  own 
home  and  hospital  for  men  convalescing  and  on  furlough, 
and  above  all  it  had  all  of  Its  relations  with  the  French 
Army,  of  which  it  was  a  part,  not  merely  formulated,  but 
tested  and  revised  by  several  years  of  actual  operation. 
The  transport  branch,  Including  about  eight  hundred 
volunteers,  using  the  same  Paris  headquarters  and  home, 
and  the  same  department  of  the  French  officers'  school 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


as  the  ambulance  branch,  but  with  two  special  training- 
camps  of  its  own,  was  also  a  tried  and  working  proposition 
which  had  been  rendering  helpful  and  appreciated  service 
with  the  French  Army  for  several  months.  The  French 
authorities  were  anxious  that  both  formations  should  be 
continued  and  that  the  entry  of  the  United  States  in 
the  war  should  not  result  in  any  interruption  of  either 
of  these  sei-vices  upon  which  they  had  come  to  count. 
Marechal  Joffre,  in  his  trip  to  the  States  in  the  spring 
of  19 1 7,  appealed  to  the  American  Government  to  this 
end,  and  as  a  result  of  his  appeal,  it  was  agreed  in  Wash- 
ington that  both  branches  of  the  Field  Service  should  be 
adopted  by  the  American  Army  and  reloaned  to  France, 
so  that  they  could  go  on  functioning  as  they  had  before, 
only  under  official  American  auspices.  During  the  au- 
tumn of  191 7,  accordingly,  the  ambulance  sections,  then 
numbering  thirty- three,  were  incorporated  in  the  United 
States  Army  Ambulance  Service  with  the  French  Army, 
and  the  camion  sections,  numbering  fourteen  (the  so-called 
Reserve  Mallet),  were  militarized  as  the  American  Mis- 
sion with  the  French  Army  of  the  Motor  Transport  Corps. 
A  majority  of  the  Field  Service  volunteer  drivers  willingly 
enlisted  in  the  United  States  Army  in  order  that  the  en- 
tity and  work  of  their  sections  might  continue.  The 
Field  Service  officers  were  regularly  commissioned.  The 
Field  Service  ambulances  and  other  cars,  numbering 
nearly  a  thousand,  were  turned  over  to  the  United  States 
Army,  and  the  sections  thus  went  on  serving  with  the 
French  Army  without  change  or  interruption.  The  only 
exception  concerned  the  Field  Service  ambulance  sec- 
tions in  the  Balkans,  which  the  American  Army  would 
not  accept  or  take  over  for  the  ostensible  reason  that  the 
United  States  was  not  then  at  war  with  Austria-Hun- 
gary and  could  not  accordingly  have  even  non-combatant 
troops  in  service  with  the  armies  that  were  opposing  the 
Austrians.  We  were  therefore  obliged,  however  reluc- 
tantly, to  withdraw  the  personnel  of  these  sections,  but 
not  before  giving  their  cars,  tents,  and  abundant  equip- 

10 


A.   PIATT   ANDREW 


INTRODUCTION 


ment  directly  to  the  French  Army  of  the  Orient,  which 
thus  continued  their  service,  in  the  hands  of  a  French 
personnel,  until  the  end  of  the  war. 

It  is  worthy  of  note  that  while  neither  the  American 
ambulance  nor  transport  adjuncts  of  the  French  Army, 
which  rendered  such  excellent  service  in  France  dur- 
ing the  last  year  of  the  war,  would  probably  have  ex- 
isted except  for  their  previous  formation  under  the  Field 
Service,  both  were  not  only  continued  under  the  auspices 
of  the  American  Army,  but  were  very  considerably  en- 
larged under  those  auspices  during  that  final  year.  Before 
the  war  ended,  the  American  ambulance  sections  ser^dng 
with  the  French  Army  had  increased  to  eighty-one  and 
the  camion  sections  so  serving  to  twenty-four. 

With  the  arrival  of  the  American  Army  in  France,  as 
more  varied  opportunities  for  participation  in  the  war 
became  available,  many  of  the  old  Field  Service  volun- 
teers sought  service  in  other  branches  of  the  army,  such 
as  aviation,  infantry,  and  the  artillery,  for  which  they 
felt  themselves  better  qualified  by  individual  endowment 
or  previous  training  and  experience.  In  addition,  there- 
fore, to  the  hundreds  of  offtcers  and  men  which  the  Field 
Service  contributed  to  the  American  ambulance  and  mo- 
tor transport  corps  serving  with  the  armies  of  France, 
it  also  contributed  quotas  to  almost  every  other  part  of 
the  American  Expeditionary  Forces,  and  in  fact  to  sev- 
eral services  of  the  allied  armies  as  well.  The  records  of 
many  of  the  men  in  these  services  not  only  brought  dis- 
tinction to  themselves,  but  reflected  some  of  that  dis- 
tinction upon  the  mother  organization  under  which  they 
began  their  service  in  France.  A  hundred  and  twenty- 
seven  Field  Service  men,  whose  names  are  listed  on  a 
Roll  of  Honor  elsewhere  in  these  volumes,  gave  in  the 
course  of  the  war  all  that  they  had  or  could  hope  for, 
and  several  times  that  number  suffered  mutilation  and 
wounds. 

We  know  of  approximately  eight  hundred  former  Field 

II 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Sendee  volunteers  who  subsequently  held  commissions 
in  the  United  States  Army,  Navy,  or  Marine  Corps,  and 
in  addition  we  have  record  of  one  hundred  and  three 
who  were  officers  or  aspirants  in  the  French  artillery 
and  aviation,  and  of  twenty- two  who  were  officers  in 
the  British  Army,  principally  in  the  Royal  Flying  Corps. 
In  all,  the  total  number  of  Field  Service  men  ser\ang 
as  officers  and  privates  in  the  French  and  British  Armies 
was  close  to  two  hundred. 


Builders  of  the  Service 

The  success  of  the  Field  Service  was  due,  not  merely 
nor  primarily  to  the  hundreds  of  youths  who  constituted 
its  ranks  in  the  field.  It  was  due,  in  the  first  instance,  to  j 

the  concerted  effort  of  a  multitude  of  men  and  women  •; 

scattered   throughout  the   length   and    breadth  of    the  i 

United  States.    In  schools  and  colleges,   in   clubs  and  ; 

churches,  in  business  houses  and  trade  oi;ganizations  of  i 

every  sort,  with  unremitting  effort  they  secured  the  funds  ' 

and  recruits  which  for  three  years  made  the  Service  possi- 
ble, and  which  at  the  rate  of  their  accumulation  in  April, 
1 9 1 7  (had  America  not  entered  the  war  at  that  time) ,  were 
destined  shortly  to  make  of  the  Field  Service  an  institution  I 

of  very  formidable  proportions.   To  these  friends  of  the  j 

Field  Service  in  America,  any  one  of  whom  would  gladly 
have  welcomed  the  opportunity  to  do  what  the  volunteers 
on  the  front  were  doing,  gratitude  for  the  achievement  of 
the  Field  Service  is  as  much  owing  as  to  the  men  who  i 

served  in  France.  Particularly  is  appreciation  due  in  this  \ 

connection  to  Mr.  Henry  D.  Sleeper,  the  American  repre-  \ 

sentative  of  the  Service,  who  during  these  years  with  un-  ' 

flagging  energy  organized  the  committees  and  spread  from 
one  end  of  America  to  the  other  the  information  which  re- 
sulted so  successfully  in  providing  men  and  money  for  the  j 
work  in  France.  j 
Whatever  success  the  Field  Service  sections  may  have  : 
achieved  in  the  field  was  equally  owing  to  the  devoted           \ 

12  i 


INTRODUCTION 


effort  of  the  staff  in  France  who,  during  month  after 
month  and  year  after  year,  gave  themselves  without  stint, 
caring  for  and  training  the  men  as  they  arrived  from 
America  in  ever-increasing  and  often  unexpected  num- 
bers, looking  after  the  assembling  and  construction  of 
ambulances,  finding  and  shipping  the  endless  supplies 
needed  by  the  sections,  handling  perplexing  matters  of 
personal  discipline  and  complicated  relations  with  various 
branches  of  the  French  administration,  and  meeting,  so 
far  as  possible,  the  innumerable  individual  problems  pre- 
sented by  several  thousand  young  volunteers  in  a  foreign 
army  in  a  foreign  land.  We  passed  through  many  tense 
and  difficult  days  together,  and  I  shall  never  forget  their 
loyal  and  faithful  cooperation.  Above  all,  and  without 
any  risk  of  invidious  distinction,  must  be  mentioned 
Mr.  Stephen  Galatti,  who  reluctantly  left  his  section  at 
the  front  at  the  end  of  19 15  in  order  to  help  in  the  admin- 
istration of  the  Service,  and  to  whose  unswerving  loyalty, 
unfailing  optimism,  tireless  patience,  and  wise  counsel 
during  the  years  that  followed,  the  Service  owes  an  in- 
estimable debt. 

Our  Memories 

In  the  narratives  and  impressions  that  follow  will  be 
found  something  of  the  life  and  work  of  the  Field  Service 
volunteers  before  American  troops  had  come  to  France. 
The  participants  themselves  tell  their  own  stories,  and 
by  collecting  and  editing  these  stories,  it  is  hoped  to 
hand  down  to  the  future,  not  only  the  record  of  what 
the  Field  Service  was  and  accomplished  during  the  first 
years  of  the  Great  War,  but  also  a  considerable  number 
of  first-hand  observations  of  what  life  at  the  front 
with  the  French  armies  was  like  during  these  years. 

WViters  of  greater  training  have  given  the  world  graphic 
pictures  of  the  more  famous  scenes  of  battle,  —  of  the 
tragic  days  of  the  Yser,  of  the  Somme,  of  Champagne,  of 
Verdun,  of  the  Chemin  des  Dames,  —  in  all  of  which 
Field  Service  sections  had    their  small  part;  but  there 

13 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


are  less  known  events  and  places  deeply  graven  in  the 
memories  of  Field  Service  men  which  also  deserve  to  be 
perpetuated  and  to  be  sung.  Many  of  the  pages  that  fol- 
low will  quicken  the  recollection  of  such  days  and  places 
among  the  men  who  "were  there,"  even  though  they  may 
give  only  faint  impressions  to  those  whose  reading  is 
unsupported  by  experiences  recalled.  What  throngs  of 
varied  memories  troop  by  again  as  one  turns  over  the 
pages!  Memories  of  farewell  dinners  long  ago  at  old  "21," 
when  sections,  on  the  eve  of  their  departure  for  the  front, 
were  bid  Godspeed  by  well-known  men  of  France  and 
America;  memories  of  the  excitement  of  section  depar- 
tures, in  particular  of  the  nights  in  October  and  Decem- 
ber, 191 6,  when  Section  Three  and  Section  Ten  embarked 
for  their  great  adventure  in  the  Orient,  and  of  that  May 
morning  in  191 7  when  the  first  Camion  Section  marched 
down  through  the  Passy  grounds,  under  arms,  en  route  for 
Dommiers;  memories  of  days  of  eager  anticipation  at  the 
training-camps  by  the  old  water-mill  at  May-en-Multien, 
in  the  forest  at  Dommiers,  or  in  the  chateau  grounds  at 
Chavigny,  the  last  two  of  which  have  long  since  been 
reduced  to  dust  and  wreckage  by  the  sweep  of  battle; 
memories  of  mysterious  nights  spent  under  whistling 
shells  in  postes  crowded  with  wounded  poilus  at  Esnes,  at 
Bras,  at  Vendresse,  at  Hartmannsweilerkopf,  and  scores 
of  other  places ;  memories  of  hours  of  unutterable  sorrow 
when  comrades  who  had  fallen  were  laid  eternally  to 
rest;  memories  of  happy  days  of  decorations  and  defiles, 
like  that  last  ceremony  in  which  the  Field  Service  as 
such  took  part,  when  her  camion  volunteers  were  deco- 
rated on  the  champ  de  manoeuvre  of  Soissons  in  the 
cold  twilight  of  November  12,  1917! 

The  American  Field  Service  has  passed  into  history, 
and  the  Great  War  itself  is  a  closed  volume.  Fortunate 
is  it,  indeed,  if  here  are  gathered  together  a  few  remind- 
ers of  our  work  and  our  companions,  of  our  joys  and  our 
sorrows  in  the  great  days  that  are  no  more. 


14 


INTRODUCTION 


The  Field  Service  and  France 

When  all  is  said  and  done,  the  Field  Service  volunteers 
themselves  gained  far  more  than  the  wounded  poilus,  far 
more  than  the  armies  of  France,  far  more  than  any  one 
else,  from  the  work  which  they  performed. 

Even  in  ordinary  times  it  is  a^privilege  to  live  in  this 
^'doux  pays  de  France,''  to  move  about  among  its  gentle 
and  finished  landscapes,  in  the  presence  of  its  beautiful 
architectural  heritages  and  in  daily  contact  with  its 
generous,  sensitive,  and  highly  gifted  people.  Life  in 
France,  even  in  ordinary  times,  means  to  those  of  almost 
any  other  country  daily  suggestions  of  courtesy,  refine- 
ment, and  thoughtful  consideration  for  others.  It  means 
continual  suggestions  of  an  intelligent  perspective  in  the 
art  of  living  and  in  the  things  that  give  life  dignity  and 
worth. 

But  the  opportunity  of  living  in  France,  as  we  Ameri- 
cans lived  during  the  first  years  of  the  war,  meant 
all  this  and  more.  It  meant  glimpses  of  human  nature 
shorn  of  self,  exalted  by  love  of  country,  singing  and  jest- 
ing in  the  midst  of  hardships,  smiling  at  pain,  unmindful 
even  of  death.  It  meant  contact  with  the  most  gentle  and 
most  intelligent  of  modern  peoples  facing  incredible  suf- 
fering, prolonged  and  prodigious  sacrifices,  mortal  peril  — 
facing  them  with  silent,  unshakable  resolve,  victoriously 
resisting  them  with  modesty  and  never  a  vaunting  word. 
It  meant  visions  of  courage,  resignation,  and  heroism  as 
fine  as  any  that  history  records.  Nothing  else  surely  can 
ever  ofi^er  so  much  of  noble  inspiration  as  those  glimpses 
of  the  moral  grandeur  of  unconquerable  France. 

The  epic  and  heroic  quality  of  France's  whole  history, 
and  especially  of  that  chapter  of  which  we  were  eye- 
witnesses, the  quenchless  spirit  and  unfaltering  will  of 
her  people,  the  democracy,  the  comradeship,  and  above 
all,  the  calm,  unboasting,  matter-of-fact  courage  of  her 
troops,  kindled  something  akin  to  veneration  in  all  of 
us.  The  Field  Service  motto  was,  *^Tous  et  tout  pour  la 

15 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


France.''  We  all  felt  it.  We  all  meant  it.   It  is  forever 
ours. 

In  serving  with  the  armies  of  France,  the  men  of  the 
old  Field  Service  enjoyed  a  privilege  of  unique  and  in- 
estimable value,  a  privilege  the  memory  of  which  will 
remain  not  only  a  cherished  heritage,  but  a  living  influ- 
ence as  long  as  any  of  us  survive. 

A.  Piatt  Andrew  ^ 

France,  March,  1919 

^  Organizer  and  head  of  the  American  Field  Service,  Serv^ed  in  France 
continuously  from  December,  1914,  until  May,  1919.  Commissioned  a 
Major,  U.S.A.  Ambulance  Service,  and  subsequently  a  Lieutenant-Colo- 
nel. The  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  American  Expeditionary  Forces 
awarded  him  the  Distinguished  Service  Medal  with  this  citation:  "  For 
exceptionally  meritorious  and  distinguished  services.  Coming  to  France  at 
the  beginning  of  the  war,  he  showed  remarkable  ability  in  organizing  the 
American  Field  Service,  a  volunteer  service  for  the  transportation  of  the 
wounded  of  the  French  Armies  at  the  front.  Upon  the  entry  of  the  United 
States  into  the  war,  he  turned  over  to  the  U.S.  Army  Ambulance  Service 
the  efficient  organization  he  had  built  up,  and  by  his  sound  judgment  and 
expert  advice,  rendered  invaluable  aid  in  the  development  of  that  organiza- 
tion. To  him  is  due,  in  large  measure,  the  credit  for  the  increasingly  valuable 
work  done  by  the  light  ambulances  at  the  front." 


ACTA    MANENT 


II 

SOME  OF  THE  EARLY  PROBLEMS 

It  is  not  France  alone  that  they  serve.  They  are  paying  for  all  Ameri- 
cans a  small  instalment  on  the  great  debt  of  gratitude  that  we  have  owed 
the  French  people  since  the  very  beginning  of  our  national  life. 

Myron  T.  Herrick,  1916 

Most  of  the  American  war  activities  in  France  that  pre- 
ceded the  entrance  of  the  United  States  into  the  war 
can  trace  some  sort  of  parentage  to  the  small  American 
hospital  in  Neuilly-sur-Seine,  that  had  been  maintained 
by  members  of  the  American  colony  in  Paris  for  some 
years  before  the  war.  As  this  semi-charitable  institution 
was  located  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Paris,  and  in- 
cluded among  its  supporters  and  directors  a  large  num- 
ber of  the  American  residents  of  the  French  capital,  it 
naturally,  at  the  outbreak  of  hostilities,  became  the  rally- 
ing centre  for  all  Americans,  who,  as  residents,  travellers, 
or  students,  happened  to  be  in  Paris  at  the  time,  and  who 
wanted  to  do  something  to  help. 

Money  and  hospital  supplies  were  donated ;  automobiles 
were  given  and  lent;  men  and  women  of  all  sorts  offered 
their  services;  and  within  a  few  weeks,  even  before  the 
Germans  had  reached  the  Marne,  a  large  hospital  for 
French  wounded  had  been  equipped  and  opened  in  the 
Lycee  Pasteur  in  Neuilly,  another  hospital  w^as  in  process 
of  organization  near  Meaux,  and  a  number  of  ambulances, 
rudely  extemporized  from  touring  cars,  limousines,  and 
automobile  chassis,  were  ready  to  bring  in  the  wounded, 
which,  early  in  September,  the  rapidly  moving  battle 
flood  brought  close  to  the  city. 

All  of  these  endeavors  began  in  the  name  of  and  under 
the  auspices  of  the  little  ante-helium  American  Hospital 
of  Neuilly,  which  can  claim  the  signal  honor  of  having 
initiated  American  war  relief  work  in  France.  They  had 
the  distinguished  support  and  active  leadership  of  the 

17 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


American  ambassador,  Mr.  Myron  T.  Herrick,  and  of 
his  predecessor,  Mr.  Robert  Bacon. 

In  the  months  that  followed,  with  the  crystallization 
of  the  front,  and  the  resultant  prospect  of  a  prolonged 
war,  the  efforts  of  the  American  residents  in  France  were 
supplemented  rapidly  and  in  ever-increasing  proportions 
by  men  and  funds  from  America.  The  American  effort 
began  also  to  differentiate  itself,  to  specialize  its  tasks 
and  its  personnel,  and  one  after  another  many,  who  had 
been  associated  with  the  American  hospital  at  the  out- 
set, withdrew  from  it,  in  order  to  develop  new  oppor- 
tunities for  service,  —  now  to  establish  a  new  American 
hospital  at  Montdidier  (Mr.  Herman  Harjes) ;  ^now  to 
organize  a  hospital  at  Ris  Orangis  (Dr.  Joseph  A.  Blake) ; 
now  to  direct  a  group  of  automobile  ambulances  in  Bel- 
gium (Mr.  Francis  T.  Colby);  now  to  head  a  group  of 
ambulances  with  the  British  (Mr.  Richard  Norton) ; 
now  to  institute  a  service  for  the  distribution  of  relief 
(Mrs.  Robert  Bliss) ;  and  now  to  systematize  and  facili- 
tate the  import  of  supplies  from  America  (Dr.  Watson 
and  Mr.  Charles  Carroll). 

In  the  winter  of  19 14-15  a  score  or  two  of  the  donated 
automobile  ambulances,  which,  because  of  the  with- 
drawal of  the  front  after  the  battle  of  the  Marne,  were 
no  longer  needed  by  the  American  Ambulance  Hospital 
in  Neuilly,  had  been  temporarily  lent  w4th  American  vol- 
unteers as  drivers,  to  French  and  British  hospitals  some- 
what in  the  rear  of  the  army  zone  at  Paris  Plage,  Hesdin, 
Abbeville,  Saint-Pol,  Beauvais,  and  Dunkirk.  But  this 
work,  however  useful  it  may  have  been,  was  not  of  a  char- 
acter to  appeal  to  enthusiastic  and  ardent  young  Ameri- 
cans, who  were  physically  able  and  morally  eager  to  share 
more  of  war's  hardships  and  dangers.  Many  young  Ameri- 
cans were  already  stirring  with  the  desire  to  participate 
in  the  great  world  drama,  yet  they  could  not  do  so  as  com- 
batants without  sacrifice  of  their  nationality.  Admirers 
of  France  in  America  were  becoming  more  and  more 
numerous  and  generous  and  were  seeking  opportunities 

18 


INTRODUCTION 


to  contribute  aid  to  the  French  armies.  Every  circum- 
stance of  the  time  pointed  to  the  possibiHty  of  success- 
fully developing  an  ambulance  service,  conducted  by 
American  volunteers,  and  supported  by  American  donors, 
but  working  directly  in  the  French  army  zone  as  part 
and  parcel  of  the  French  Army. 

This  was  the  goal  toward  which  some  of  us  began  direct- 
ing our  hopes  and  our  energies  in  the  late  winter  of  1914- 
15.  But  before  launching  an  appeal  in  America  for  men 
and  money  for  this  special  purpose  certain  preliminary 
and  somewhat  formidable  obstacles  in  France  had  to  be 
overcome.  First  of  all,  the  Commander-in-Chief  of  the 
French  Army  had  to  be  persuaded  of  the  advisability  of 
allowing  representatives  of  a  neutral  country,  not  merely 
to  circulate  in  the  army  zone,  but,  what  was  far  more 
irregular,  to  serve  as  actual  members  of  a  French  division. 
One  can  easily  understand  that  the  French  General 
Headquarters  hesitated  before  such  a  proposal,  envisaged 
the  difficulties,  and  asked  for  certain  assurances.  These 
young  Americans  were  coming  from  a  country  whose 
people  at  that  time  were,  to  some  extent  at  least,  divided 
on  the  issues  of  the  war,  and  whose  Government  had 
given  no  indication  of  friendliness  to  France.  If  they  were 
not  to  forego  their  allegiance  to  their  native  land,  they 
could  not  be  subjected,  like  French  soldiers,  to  the  sterner 
forms  of  discipline,  such  as  court-martial,  nor  to  the  more 
severe  forms  of  punishment.  They  could  not,  like  French 
citizens,  be  asked  to  engage  themselves  for  such  an  in- 
definite period  as  the  duration  of  the  war.  Above  all, 
the  French  Army  had  to  protect  itself  against  the  pos- 
sible presence  within  its  lines  of  men  of  disloyal  inclin- 
ations. 

We  recognized  these  grounds  for  hesitation  and  tried 
to  meet  them.  We  offered  formal  assurance  that  no  can- 
didates would  be  accepted  without  at  least  three  letters 
from  men  of  standing  in  their  communities,  testifying 
to  their  character  and  unquestioned  loyalty  to  the  Allied 
cause,  which  letters  would  be  kept  on  file  at  our  Head- 

19 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 

quarters  subject  at  all  times  to  examination  by  the 
French  authorities;  that  each  candidate  would  sign  an 
initial  engagement  for  at  least  six  months'  service,  to  be 
renewable  thereafter  for  periods  of  at  least  three  months ; 
that  he  would  also  sign  a  promise  not  to  communicate 
any  information  of  military  significance  that  might  come 
to  his  knowledge  during  his  period  of  service;  and  finally, 
that  during  this  period  he  would  "be  subject  to  French 
military  discipline."  This  latter  agreement  was  probably 
unenforceable,  since  any  member  of  the  Serv^ice,  who  had 
not  forsworn  his  allegiance  to  his  country,  might  still  have 
appealed  to  the  American  Government  for  protection 
against  the  execution  of  a  French  military  punishment, 
but  fortunately  it  was  never  put  to  the  test.  During  our 
three  years  of  service  there  was  never  a  question  of  es- 
pionage or  disloyalty  among  our  volunteers,  nor  were 
there  any  cases  of  serious  infraction  of  military  dis- 
cipline. Among  all  of  the  thousands  of  members  of  the 
Ser\ace  I  recall  only  one  instance  where  a  volunteer, 
imprisoned  by  French  military  authority  for  some  mis- 
demeanor, appealed  to  the  American  Ambassador  for  re- 
lief from  his  punishment,  and  this  was  settled  amicably 
by  a  prompt  dishonorable  discharge  from  the  Service  of 
the  youthful  offender. 

Agreement  with  French  G.Q.G. 

Early  in  April,  19 15,  the  French  General  Headquarters 
paid  us  the  gratifying  tribute  of  accepting  our  offer  and 
our  assurances,  and  authorized  the  incorporation  in  the 
French  Army  of  such  volunteer  sections  as  we  might  be 
able  to  provide.  These  sections  were  to  be  constituted,  as 
to  personnel,  material,  and  equipment,  upon  exactly  the 
same  model  as  the  regular  French  Army  ambulance  sec- 
tions (except  that  the  men  and  cars  were  to  be  furnished 
by  us) ,  and  they  were  to  function  in  exactly  the  same  way. 
The  agreement  thus  signed  by  the  French  Headquarters 
in  the  early  months  of  the  war  is  of  sufficient  interest  and 
significance  to  justify  the  publication  of  its  terms  in  fulL 

20 


COMMANDANT   DOUMENC 


INTRODUCTION 


The  following  translation  was  made  from  the  original 
text  as  slightly  modified  by  subsequent  orders. 

]MEMOR.^NDUM  REGARDING  THE  UTILIZATION  IN  THE 
ARMIES  OF  THE  SANITARY  SECTIONS  PLACED  AT  THE 
DISPOSAL  OF  THE  GENERAL-IN-CHIEF  BY  THE  AMERI- 
CAN FIELD  SERVICE 

General  Provisions 

(A)  These  sections  shall  have  the  same  elements  (material 
and  personnel)  as  are  provided  for  the  French  sections  of  the 
same  type  and  shall  be  similarly  constituted  in  administrative 
units. 

(B)  A  French  officer  of  the  automobile  service  will  be  ap- 
pointed commander  of  each  formation.  Attached  to  this  officei 
will  be  a  representative  of  the  American  Field  Service  in  charge 
of  the  relations  between  the  A.F.S.  and  the  section.  He  will 
have  the  title  of  Assistant  Commander  {Commandant  Adjoint) 
and  will  be  charged  with  transmitting  to  the  American  drivers 
the  orders  of  the  French  officer  and  insuring  discipline  among 
the  American  drivers. 

Enlistment  Contract  —  Discipline 

(A)  The  volunteers  must  enlist  for  a  period  of  six  months 
with  their  Organizing  Committee,  with  the  privilege  of  renew- 
ing their  enlistment  for  periods  of  at  least  three  months.  Before 
leaving  for  the  section  they  must  hand  to  Captain  Aujay 
(Office  of  Foreign  Sanitary  Sections)  a  signed  copy  of  their 
enlistment.  From  this  time  they  shall  be  subject  to  French 
military  discipline. 

(B)  In  addition  to  their  passports,  the  American  volunteers 
must  be  provided  while  In  the  army  zone  with  a  "carnet 
d'  Stranger"  delivered  by  the  B.M.S.E. 

(C)  They  will  have  the  right  to  ''permissions,'^  regulated 
as  follows: 

Seven  days  at  the  expiration  of  each  period  of  three  months* 
presence  in  their  formation. 

Fourteen  days  at  the  expiration  of  each  period  of  nine 
months'  presence  in  their  formation. 

Fifteen  days  before  the  expiration  of  each  period  of  enlist- 
ment, the  American  drivers  will  be  invited  by  the  French  officer 
commanding  the  section  to  choose  between  their  liberation  at 
the  end  of  the  current  period  and  the  signature  of  a  new  engage- 
rnent.  In  the  first  case  no  '' permission' '  will  be  granted  before 
liberation;  in  the  second  case  the  usual  ''permission''  will  be 
allowed. 

21 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


(D)  They  will  wear  the  uniform  adopted  by  the  American 
Field  Service,  with  the  grenades  of  the  Automobile  Service,  in 
wool  or  silk  for  drivers,  in  gold  or  silver  for  the  Assistant 
Commander.  They  should  in^no  case  wear  the  insignia  of  rank 
in  use  in  the  Allied  Armies. 

(E)  The  French  Chief  of  Section  will  have  the  right  to  re- 
quest from  the  Chief  of  the  Automobile  Service  of  the  army 
the  dismissal  of  any  foreign  driver  who  shall  have  been  guilty 
of  a  serious  breach  of  discipline.  The  Chief  of  the  Automobile 
Service  of  the  army  shall  have  the  right  to  order  immediate 
dismissal  on  receipt  of  a  report  setting  forth  the  facts.  Such 
dismissal  involves  the  absolute  prohibition  to  enlist  in  any 
other  foreign  sanitary  section. 

Registration  and  Upkeep  of  Vehicles 

(A)  The  cars  will  be  registered  and  attached  to  the  automo- 
bile service  of  the  army  with  which  these  sections  are  con- 
nected. 

(B)  Each  section  will  include  a  workshop  car  with  two 
mechanics  for  maintenance  and  light  repairs.  The  unit  will 
always  be  able  to  call  upon  the  resources  of  the  automobile 
park  of  the  army  for  more  important  repairs. 

(C)  The  request  for  spare  parts  will  be  centralized  by  the 
automobile  service  of  the  army  which  will  transmit  them  to  the 
Magasin  Central  Automobile  in  the  form  in  use  for  spare  parts 
for  French  cars.  (Never  followed  as  the  American  Field  Service 
always  had  its  own  repair  park  and  supplied  its  own  spare  parts.) 

(D)  Gasoline,  supplies,  and  tires  will  be  furnished  to  these 
sections  in  the  same  way  as  to  any  other  section  of  the  automo- 
bile service. 

Movements  of  Personnel 

Foreign  volunteers  will  conform  to  all  rules  laid  down  by  the 
Commanding  General-in-Chief  concerning  circulation  in  the 
army  zone  and  especially  the  rules  concerning  movements  of 
drivers  of  the  foreign  sanitary  sections  (particularly  the  obli- 
gatory visit  to  the  office  of  the  foreign  sanitary  sections  on 
going  to  or  returning  from  the  front). 

Replacing  of  Drivers  and  Withdrawal  of  Cars 

(A)  In  the  event  of  the  American  Field  Service  being  unable 
to  maintain  the  full  effective  force  of  a  section  in  drivers  or 
cars,  a  supplemental  force  can  be  furnished  by  the  automobile 
service  of  the  army  in  question. 

(B)  The  cars  can  be  withdrawn  from  the  armies  by  the 
Organizing  Committee  at  a  month's  notice  addressed  to  the 
Direction  of  the  Automobile  Service. 

22 


INTRODUCTION 


Inspection  by  Delegates  of  the  Organizing  Committee 

When  members  of  the  Committee  wish  to  visit  their  forma- 
tions they  should  make  a  request  to  the  Commanding  General- 
in-Chief  {Direction  des  Services  Automobiles). 

List  of  Personnel 

1  French  officer  of  the  automobile  service. 

2  Representatives  of  the  American  Field  Service  who  will 
receive  the  rations  applicable  to  the  rank  of  sub-lieutenant 
to  the  exclusion  of  all  other  pay.  These  representatives 
will  have  the  title  of  Commandant- Adjoint  and  Sous-Chef 
of  section  and  will  have  the  right  to  officers'  billets. 

I   Marechal  des  logis  (Sergeant)  ^ 

1  Brigadier  four  rier  (Corporal)   r  French 

2  chauffeurs  3 

40  American  volunteers  at  the  maximum 

2  American  mechanics 
A  minimum  of  22  ambulances  "^ 
I  repair  truck  >  furnished  by  Americans 

I   touring  car  J 

I  smTfruck  }  f^^^ished  by  French  Army 

Signed:  Doumenc  Signed:  Piatt  Andrew 

Director  of  the  Automobile  .  Inspector  General  of  the 

Service    of    the    General  American  Ambulance 

Headquarters  Field  Service 

The  signing  of  this  agreement  at  General  Joffre's  Head- 
quarters marked  the  transition  to  a  new  development  of 
American  aid  to  France.  It  initiated  direct  cooperation 
with  the  combatant  French  armies  In  the  advanced  zone. 
But  it  did  more  than  that,  for  it  actually  incorporated 
American  volunteer  units  In  the  French  Army  under  the 
authority  and  control  of  French  General  Headquarters. 
It  meant  the  beginning  of  a  new  undertaking  which  was 
destined  to  develop  rapidly,  and  to  play  a  considerable 
role  long  before,  and  Indeed,  after,  America's  formal 
entry  Into  the  war.  The  date  of  the  signing  of  this  agree- 
ment has  ever  since  been  considered  to  mark  the  com- 
mencement of  the  American  Field  Service,  as  a  distinct 
organization  with  functions,  relations,  and  a  personnel 
of  Its  own. 

23 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


So  began  the  American  Field  Service  in  France,  or  the 
American  Ambulance  Field  Service,  as  it  was  at  first 
called,  an  American  volunteer  formation  functioning  as 
an  integral  part  of  the  armies  of  France.  The  agreement 
once  signed,  appeals  were  immediately  sent  out  to 
American  universities  for  recruits;  committees  were  or- 
ganized in  these  universities  and  in  different  American 
cities  to  collect  funds  for  the  purchase  of  ambulances  and 
equipment  and  for  their  upkeep;  and  before  the  end  of 
19 1 5  we  were  able  to  offer  to  the  French  Army  four  com- 
plete sections,  each  composed  of  twenty  ambulances  and 
other  appurtenant  cars,  a  contingent  sufficient  to  handle 
all  of  the  sanitary  transport  of  four  French  divisions. 

The  Personnel  of  a  Section 

As  to  the  personnel,  the  agreement  with  the  French 
Army  had  stipulated  that  each  section  should  have  not 
more  than  forty  American  volunteers,  that  being  the 
customary  number  in  a  French  ambulance  section,  al- 
lowing two  drivers  for  a  car;  but,  as  in  the  early  months 
we  had  no  redundant  supply  of  volunteers,  and  as  those 
whom  we  had,  were  eager  for,  and  capable  of,  hard  work, 
the  first  sections  were  sent  out  with  only  twenty-five  or 
thirty  American  members,  which  meant,  in  principle,  one 
man  for  each  automobile  with  a  small  reserve  for  special 
duties  or  for  relief  in  case  of  sickness,  accident,  or  fur- 
lough. In  addition  the  French  Army  attached  to  each 
section  from  two  to  four  French  soldiers,  nominally  to 
serve  as  orderlies  and  drivers  for  the  French  staff,  but 
practically  these  soldiers  did  the  work  of  cooks  and 
general  handy-men  for  the  sections.  The  French  officer 
attached  to  the  section  was  the  intermediary  through 
whom  orders  from  the  French  Army  were  transmitted  to 
the  section,  and  by  him  the  numerous  reports,  accounts, 
and  other  papers  required  in  the  French  Army  were 
prepared  and  handed  over  to  the  French  authorities.  In 
the  latter  work  he  was  assisted  by  two  French  non- 
commissioned officers,  likewise  detailed  to  the  section. 

24 


INTRODUCTION 


Thus,  each  section  had,  in  addition  to  its  American  per- 
sonnel of  about  thirty  members,  a  French  personnel  of 
from  five  to  seven  members.  The  American  Field  Serv^ice 
officer,  officially  known  as  the  Commandant- Adjoint,  was 
charged  with  the  enforcement  of  the  orders  and  the  main- 
tenance of  discipline  within  the  section.  In  theory  such 
a  division  of  responsibility  and  command  between  two 
officers  of  different  nationalities  might  easily  have  led  to 
conflicts  of  authority  and  friction  between  the  two,  yet, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  during  the  long  history  of  the  Field 
Service  instances  of  such  disagreements  were  rare.  The 
French  officers  assigned  to  the  American  sections  were 
carefully  selected,  not  merely  for  their  competence  and 
training,  but  for  their  tact  and  familiarity  with  American 
character  and  customs,  and  in  most  of  our  sections  the 
relations  between  the  French  and  American  officers  were 
characterized  not  only  by  mutual  confidence  and  respect, 
but  by  intimacy  and  comradeship.  Differences  of  lan- 
guage and  nationality  counted  not  at  all  in  the  old  Field 
Service  sections.  French  and  American  members  were 
comrades,  sharing  the  same  life,  working  for  the  same 
cause,  taking  equal  pride  in  their  joint  accomplishment. 
The  sections,  in  fact,  were  more  like  large  families  than 
military  formations,  the  officers  and  men,  whether  French 
or  American,  eating  together,  if  not  at  the  same  table,  at 
least  in  the  same  room,  and  calling  each  other  not  infre- 
quently by  familiar  names  rather  than  by  formal  titles. 

For  the  information  of  the  reader  and  as  a  matter  of 
record  it  is  perhaps  worth  while  to  explain  how  the  ex- 
penses of  an  ambulance  section  were  divided  between 
its  members,  the  Field  Service  organization,  and  the 
French  Army.  The  volunteer  members  were  expected  to 
provide  their  own  uniforms,  clothing  and  personal  equip- 
ment, and  to  arrange  their  own  travelling  expenses  from 
their  homes  in  America  to  France,  and  at  the  end  of  their 
enlistment,  from  France  to  their  homes.  Aside  from  this, 
practically  everything  was  provided  for  them.  The  Field 

25 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Service  furnished  board  and  lodging  for  the  men  during 
their  period  of  training  and  when  in  Paris  on  leave,  or 
when  returning  to  America.  It  made  also  an  allowance  of 
two  francs  per  day  for  each  man  in  active  service  to 
supplement  the  regular  French  Army  rations.  It  provided 
the  ambulances,  trucks,  trailers,  staff  cars,  spare  parts, 
car  and  section  equipment,  tents,  tools,  etc.  It  repaired 
the  cars  that  were  damaged  in  its  own  repair  shops,  from 
which  it  also  replenished  the  sections  with  new  cars,  tools, 
and  parts  as  occasion  required.  The  French  Army  fur- 
nished to  the  sections  the  gasoline,  oil,  and  tires  con- 
sumed by  the  cars,  and  provided  regular  army  rations 
and  lodgings  for  the  men  and  officers  in  the  field.  It  also 
paid  to  the  volunteers  the  regular  pay  of  French  soldiers 
which,  during  the  early  years  of  the  war,  averaged  about 
five  cents  daily  per  man.  It  should  be  added  that  the 
French  Army  was  notably  generous  in  its  treatment  of 
our  sections,  giving  them  preference  wherever  possible 
in  the  assignment  of  quarters,  and  detailing  to  them,  not 
merely  excellent  officers,  but,  what  was  equally  appre- 
ciated, excellent  French  cooks. 

Finding  New  Headquarters 

The  principle  of  an  ambulance  service  in  the  French 
Army  being  established,  a  pressing  question  was  the  find- 
ing and  establishment  of  an  appropriate  base.  The  four 
sections  which  we  were  able  to  send  out  in  191 5  were  dis- 
tributed at  intervals  along  the  French  front  all  the  way 
from  Flanders  to  Alsace.  Their  work  had  no  relation  with 
the  work  of  the  American  Hospital  at  Neuilly,  which  was 
more  than  two  hundred  miles  distant  from  the  nearest 
section,  and  which  received  its  wounded,  not  by  motor 
ambulance,  but  by  rail  from  the  army  zone.  The  problems 
of  these  sections  were  those  of  motor  transport  as  part 
of  the  Automobile  Service  of  the  French  Army,  and  had 
nothing  to  do  with  surgery  and  medical  work,  as  will  be 
explained  in  a  subsequent  paragraph.  The  Field  Service, 
with  a  quite  distinct  work  to  perform  in  a  quite  different 

26 


INTRODUCTION 


region,  with  its  own  special  funds,  its  own  committees  in 
America,  and  its  own  staff  in  France,  needed  space  and 
freer  opportunity  to  develop.  Inevitably  it  was  bound  to 
follow  the  example  of  other  American  ceuvres  de  guerre 
and  become  a  completely  independent  entity.  The  um- 
bilical cord,  which  at  the  outset  had  bound  it  to  the 
American  Hospital,  had  to  be  cut  if  it  was  to  undergo 
any  considerable  growth. 

For  nearly  a  year  we  continued  to  use  as  our  Paris 
office  a  small  room  in  an  outhouse  in  the  grounds  of  the 
American  Hospital  in  Neuilly,  with  a  small  attic  in  the 
main  building  as  a  dormitory  for  the  men  en  route  to  the 
front.  Early  in  191 6,  however,  after  months  of  persistent 
search,  we  found,  with  great  good  fortune,  the  spacious 
and  historic  property  at  21  rue  Raynouard  in  picturesque 
old  Passy,  and  this  estate,  thanks  to  the  munificence  of 
the  French  family  who  owned  it,  the  Hottinguers,  was 
placed  at  our  disposal  gratuitously  for  the  duration  of 
the  war.  Here  were  not  only  plenty  of  rooms  for  offices 
and  stores,  but  adequate  dormitory  and  messing  quarters 
for  two  or  three  hundred  men,  a  separate  building  for  an 
infirmary,  and  large  grounds  in  which  scores  of  cars  could 
be  parked,  hundreds  of  men  drilled,  and  numerous  sec- 
tions organized.  This,  with  two  neighboring  buildings  at 
5  rue  Lekain,  temporarily  loaned  by  the  same  benefactors 
during  the  period  or  our  greatest  activity  in  191 7,  became 
the  heart  and  centre  of  the  Field  Service,  and  continued 
so  to  serve  during  the  remaining  three  years  of  the  war. 
Thus  was  another  problem  of  the  Field  Service  solved. 
A  satisfactory  base  was  found,  and  indeed  a  veritable 
home  established  about  which  will  ever  cluster  the  grate- 
ful memories  of  several  thousand  members  who  at  one 
time  or  another  enjoyed  its  sheltering  comfort.  The  im- 
portance of  the  step  is  indicated  by  the  fact  that  although, 
when  the  change  of  base  was  made  in  19 16,  there  were 
only  five  sections  in  the  field,  a  year  later  the  number  had 
increased  to  forty-seven  sections  serving  with  the  French 
armies  at  the  front. 

27 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Automobiles  and  Doctors 

In  connection  with  the  separation  of  the  American  Field 
Service  from  the  American  Hospital,  it  is  perhaps  appro- 
priate to  digress  for  a  moment  in  order  to  draw  atten- 
tion to  a  fundamental  difference  between  the  French  and 
American  Armies  in  regard  to  the  relation  of  the  am- 
bulance sections  to  the  medical  service.  As  our  sections 
were  with  the  French  Army,  it  was  inevitable  that  we 
conform  with  the  French  system  which  involves  much 
greater  independence  between  the  two  services.  In  the 
American  Army  the  automobile  ambulances  form  part  of 
the  Medical  Corps,  and  their  supply,  repair,  and  upkeep 
are  directed  by  medical  officers.  In  the  French  Army,  how- 
ever, such  vehicles  are  not  subject  to  the  medical  service 
in  these  respects,  but  are  assimilated  with  other  motor 
vehicles,  and  entrusted  to  a  special  branch  of  the  army 
known  as  the  Automobile  Service,  which  provides  and 
maintains  every  sort  of  motor-car  used  by  the  infantry, 
the  artillery,  and  all  other  branches  of  the  army,  includ- 
ing the  medical  corps.  This  service  had  its  own  system 
of  schools  for  the  purpose  of  training  its  officers  and  men, 
its  own  organization  centres,  repair  and  revision  parks 
and  supply  depots  of  various  sorts,  which  served  alike  all 
automobiles  no  matter  what  their  functions  might  be, 
whether  for  the  transport  of  troops,  material,  or  wounded. 
The  use  of  the  automobile  for  the  rapid  transportation 
of  wounded,  which  had  reached  no  considerable  develop- 
ment before  the  great  European  war,  rendered  possible 
in  this  war  the  surgical  treatment  of  wounded  under 
much  more  favorable  circumstances  than  in  previous  wars. 
Its  adoption,  however,  inevitably  suggested  many  mod- 
ifications in  the  tables  of  organization  of  the  army  medi- 
cal service,  modifications  which  were  not  so  thoroughly 
recognized  in  the  American  Army  as  in  that  of  Franc?. 
In  the  American  Army,  motor-ambulances  were  driven, 
looked  after,  and  supervised  by  men  with  medical  train- 
ing, just  as  had  been  the  horse-drawn  ambulances  of  other 

28 


CHART  OF  TYPICAL  AJVlBULAJsCE  SERVICE  AT  THE  FRONT 
(For  explanation,  see  reverse  of  page) 


NOTE  EXPLAINING  CHART  ON  REVERSE  OF  PAGE 

A  division  of  the  French  Army  normally  included  three  infan- 
try regiments  and  an  artillery  regiment,  each  of  which  had 
its  own  sanitary  formation  of  stretcher-bearers  and  doctors, 
who  gave  hasty  dressings  at  the  first-aid  shelters.  In  addi- 
tion the  division  had  its  own  corps  of  surgeons,  doctors,  at- 
tendants, and  stretcher-bearers  {G.B.D.,  Groupe  des  Bran- 
cardiers  Divisionnaire),  who  maintained  at  least  one  central 
dressing-station  or  poste  de  secours,  where  reexaminations  were 
made  and,  when  necessary,  further  treatment  given,  and 
who  served  as  a  reserve  for  the  regimental  posies.  In  addi- 
tion the  divisional  corps  maintained  a  mobile  hospital  unit, 
which  served  as  a  sorting-station  {triage),  assigning  cases  ac- 
cording to  their  nature  and  gravity  to  particular  hospitals  in 
the  rear  not  attached  to  the  division. 

Where  conditions  of  the  terrain  allowed,  motor  ambulances 
brought  wounded  directly  from  the  regimental  first-aid  shel- 
ters, but  ordinarily  the  wounded  were  brought  from  these 
shelters  to  the  G.B.D.  postes  by  hand,  or  upon  stretchers  slung 
on  a  light  two-wheeled  frame.  The  ambulances  then  carried 
them  back  to  the  triage^  and  from  there  again  to  the  base  or 
evacuation  hospitals. 


INTRODUCTION 


wars,  the  assumption  being  that  with  long  distances  be- 
tween dressing-stations  and  hospitals,  such  as  were  fa- 
miliar in  Mexico  and  the  Philippines,  surgical  or  medi- 
cal treatment  might  be  advantageously  administered  en 
route.  Such  conditions  did  not  exist  when  motor-cars 
decim.ated  distance,  and  above  all  in  France  with  its  com- 
plex network  of  railroads  and  its  closely  grouped  towns 
and  villages  in  which  hospitals  could  be  established.  Sur- 
gical and  medical  training  had,  therefore,  no  part  to  play 
in  the  ambulance  service  in  France.  The  French  Army 
discovered  at  the  very  beginning  of  the  war  that  the  only 
role  of  this  service  was  to  get  the  wounded  as  rapidly  and 
comfortably  as  possible  from  the  battle-line  to  a  field 
hospital,  usually  only  a  few  miles  back,  where  they  could 
receive  proper  treatment  under  advantageous  conditions. 
What  was  required  of  an  ambulance  section  was  to  fur- 
nish to  the  Division,  wherever  and  whenever  required 
motor-ambulances  in  sufficient  number,  adequately  sup- 
plied with  gasoline,  tires,  and  spare  parts,  properly  looked 
after  by  motor  mechanics,  and  properly  handled  by  ex- 
perienced drivers.  From  the  French  point  of  view  it  was 
as  illogical  to  expect  doctors  and  surgeons  to  accomplish 
this  work  successfully  as  it  would  be  to  ask  automobile 
experts  to  do  surgical  and  medical  work  in  the  dressing- 
stations  and  hospitals.  The  divisional  surgeon  in  the 
French  Army  had  a  certain  number  of  ambulances  and 
drivers,  under  the  command  of  an  automobile  officer, 
placed  at  his  disposal  by  the  Automobile  Service.  The 
surgeons  decided  the  daily  work  to  be  performed  by  the 
section,  but  they  had  nothing  whatsoever  to  do  either 
with  its  internal  administration  and  discipline  or  with 
the  upkeep  of  its  membership  and  material. 

The  French  system  of  entrusting  the  supply  and  main- 
tenance of  motor  material  to  an  especially  trained  corps, 
proved  not  only  efficient,  but  of  marked  advantage.  In 
fact  so  manifest  were  its  advantages  that  when  subse- 
quently the  American  Army  came  to  France,  many  of 
its  higher  officers  perceived  the  superiority  of  the  French 

29 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


system  and  tried  to  incorporate  in  the  Ambulance  Serv- 
ice of  the  United  States  Army  the  principles  of  organiza- 
tion which  had  already  been  tested  by  three  years'  actual 
service  in  France,  both  by  the  French  army  ambulance 
sections  and  by  our  American  volunteer  sections  as  well. 
Almost  a  year  after  the  arrival  of  the  American  troops  in 
France  a  Motor  Transport  Corps  was  in  fact  established 
as  a  department  of  the  United  States  Army,  and  it  was 
based  in  the  main  on  the  French  model.  The  war  came 
to  an  end,  however,  before  the  plans  to  incorporate  the 
American  motor  ambulance  sections  in  this  corps  had 
been  adopted. 

Standardizing  Equipment 

But  to  return  to  the  Field  Service,  one  other  problem 
presented  itself  in  the  early  days,  the  proper  solution  of 
which  seems  simple  enough  in  retrospect,  but  which  at 
the  moment  was  not  without  its  perplexities.  This  was 
the  question  of  the  kind  of  ambulance  to  be  employed, 
and  its  decision  furnished  a  distinct  technical  contribution 
to  the  machinery  of  the  war.  During  our  first  months  of 
effort  many  generous  friends  in  America  and  in  France 
offered  to  turn  over  to  us  automobiles  of  diverse  makes, 
and  several  such  cars  were  actually  sent  over  from  Amer- 
ica, equipped  as  ambulances,  with  every  device  employed 
by  vehicles  of  that  name  in  American  cities.  Various 
automobile  dealers  in  America  also  wrote  offering  to  pre- 
sent us  without  charge  new  cars  of  their  manufacture, 
and  one  firm  of  considerable  standing  even  promised  to 
donate  cars  for  an  entire  section.  At  a  time  when  the 
Field  Service  was  in  an  incipient  and  indigent  condition, 
such  offers  were  decidedly  tempting,  since  they  opened 
the  way  to  a  rapid  and  immediate  development.  It  was 
not,  therefore,  without  initial  hesitation  that  we  decided 
to  reject  such  offers. 

The  difficulties,  however,  attendant  upon  the  utiliza- 
tion of  such  gifts  far  outweighed  any  obvious  advantages, 
as  the  later  experience  of  other  ambulance  formations 

30 


INTRODUCTION 


abundantly  proved.  Ambulances  made  in  America  were 
not  constructed  for  war  work.  They  were  not  designed 
to  carry  the  largest  number  of  cases  in  the  least  possible 
space,  nor  arranged  to  carry  the  stretchers  upon  which 
seriously  wounded  cases  are  transported  in  the  army. 
Such  ambulances  had  to  be  completely  reconstructed  in 
France  before  they  could  be  of  any  use  on  the  front.  But 
what  was  far  more  serious,  it  was  impossible  to  procure 
or  keep  on  hand  spare  parts  of  every  sort  for  a  great 
variety  of  different  automobile  types.  If  an  ambulance 
service  was  to  function  promptly  and  without  interrup- 
tion, it  must  be  composed  of  cars  for  the  repair  of  which 
stocks  of  interchangeable  spare  parts  were  always  avail- 
able. Uniformity  in  the  type  of  cars  used  was,  therefore, 
a  prerequisite  of  efficiency. 

We  decided,  accordingly,  at  an  early  date,  not  to  ac- 
cept gifts  of  miscellaneous  cars  and  to  limit  our  service 
to  not  more  than  two  types  of  automobiles.  Each  section 
would  be  given  two  heavy  cars  (two-  or  three-ton  trucks), 
of  a  uniform  make,  one  to  be  fitted  out  as  a  workshop 
with  simple  machinery,  hand  tools,  and  a  stock  of  spare 
parts  for  the  section's  ambulances,  the  other  to  be 
equipped  as  an  ambulance  with  benches  for  fifteen  or 
twenty  sitting  cases,  to  be  used  in  case  of  heavy  evacua- 
tions in  the  rear,  and  also  to  serve  for  the  transportation 
of  tents  and  other  heavy  section  equipment  when  the 
section  moved  from  one  locality  to  another.  One  of  these 
cars  was  to  be  used  also  to  trail  a  specially  designed  rolling 
kitchen,  with  which  each  section  was  provided,  a  kitchen 
fitted  up  like  a  small  room  on  wheels  with  a  stove,  bins 
for  coal,  wood,  and  flour,  shelves  and  hooks  for  pots  and 
kettles,  drawers  and  cupboards  for  meat,  vegetables, 
canned  foods,  and  smaller  articles,  all  arranged  after  the 
manner  of  a  gypsy  wagon,  so  that  it  could  be  drawn  up  by 
the  roadside,  or  before  any  cantonment,  and  a  hot  meal 
quickly  prepared  without  other  installation  or  shelter. 

As  for  the  ambulances  which  were  to  constitute  the 

31 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


main  body  of  the  section,  we  initiated  an  experiment 
which  at  the  outset  was  considered  by  many  of  doubtful 
expediency,  but  which  proved  in  the  end  so  eminently 
successful  that  it  was  adopted  by  other  formations,  and 
in  particular  by  a  large  department  of  the  United  States 
Army  when  that  army  came  to  France.  The  French  and 
British  Armies  had  employed  only  heavy  motors  for  their 
ambulance  services,  cars  equipped  to  carry  from  four 
to  six  lying  cases  or  eight  to  ten  sitting  cases;  but  there 
were  certain  disadvantages  in  these  cars.  Under  the  usual 
conditions  of  trench  warfare  wounded  did  not  arrive  at 
dressing-stations  in  such  numbers,  and  the  result  was, 
either  that  wounded  were  held  at  the  pastes  until  a  suffi- 
cient number  had  arrived  to  make  a  load,  or  that  the  am- 
bulance had  to  make  its  run  half  empty.  On  the  other 
hand,  in  moments  of  heavy  offensive  or  defensive  opera- 
tions, when  wounded  were  arriving  in  large  numbers,  the 
roads  were  so  encumbered  with  traffic  that  a  heavy  ambu- 
lance, being  unable  to  slip  in  and  out  of  the  convoys,  had 
to  keep  its  place  in  the  endless  procession  of  slow-moving 
trucks,  artillery,  supply  wagons,  and  marching  troops, 
thus  prolonging  painfully  the  suffering  of  the  soldier  en 
route  to  the  surgeon  and  the  hospital. 

From  the  point  of  view  of  adaptation  to  the  service  a 
light,  small  car  seemed  preferable.  From  the  point  of  view 
of  transport  from  America,  it  offered  the  additional  ad- 
vantage of  occupying  less  space  on  the  cargo  ships,  when 
such  space  was  precious  and  difficult  to  obtain.  Moreover, 
such  cars  were  less  expensive,  and  this  was  also  a  point  to 
be  considered  when  we  had  not  the  financial  backing  of 
any  government,  or  of  any  widely  organized  institution 
such  as  the  Red  Cross.  So  we  adopted  the  Ford  motor  for 
the  standard  ambulances,  and  in  the  years  before  the 
United  States  Government  was  lending  its  support  to  the 
Allied  cause,  we  imported  into  France  approximately 
twelve  hundred  such  chassis.  Here  let  it  be  said  that  in 
doing  so  we  received  no  favor  or  assistance  from  their 
manufacturer,  who    with  his   peculiar  ideas  of  philan- 

32 


INTRODUCTION 


thropy,  was  averse  to  giving  any  assistance  to  war  ac- 
tivities, even  to  the  relief  of  suffering  entailed  by  war. 
From  him  we  could  obtain  not  even  the  favor  of  whole- 
sale rates  in  the  purchase  of  cars  and  parts,  and  for  every 
Ford  car  and  for  every  Ford  part  imported  from  America, 
in  those  difficult  days  before  America  came  into  the  war, 
we  were  obliged  to  pay,  not  the  dealer's  price,  but  the 
full  market  price  charged  to  ordinary  retail  buyers. 

Each  section  then  was  endowed  with  the  following 
material:  twenty  small  Ford  ambulances  actually  in  the 
field;  two  such  ambulances  in  reserve;  a  Ford  staff  car; 
a  light  repair  car  (Ford)  carefully  designed  to  carry  an 
assortment  of  spare  parts  and  to  make  emergency  repairs 
on  the  road ;  a  large  repair  car  (two- ton  truck)  equipped 
with  workbench,  forge,  vises,  and  other  tools  to  make 
heavy  repairs  in  the  cantonment;  a  two-ton  truck  ar- 
ranged to  carry  from  fifteen  to  twenty  sitting  cases  and 
used  especially  for  evacuating  lightly  wounded  «or  gas 
cases  from  the  hospitals  to  the  trains;  a  kitchen  trailer 
with  stove  and  cooking-utensils;  and  three  tents  cap- 
able of  furnishing  living,  dining,  and  sleeping  facilities 
for  the  men. 

The  Light  F.S.  Ambulance 

The  ambulance  bodies  we  had  constructed  for  us  in 
France.  On  account  of  the  short-wheel  base  of  the  Ford, 
the  bodies  projected  far  beyond  the  rear  wheels,  which 
gave  them  a  characteristic,  not  to  say  amusing,  appear- 
ance. But  this  very  fact  had  two  compensating  advan- 
tages. First,  the  cars  could  be  manoeuvred  in  traffic  and 
turned  around  with  surprising  ease  in  a  very  small  space. 
Second,  by  reinforcing  the  rear  spring,  and  lifting  it 
above  the  axle  on  specially  made  high  perches  so  that 
the  rear  axle  was  protected  against  possible  bumps  from 
the  loaded  body,  the  overhang  resulted  in  an  unusually 
comfortable  suspension  of  the  ambulance,  even  when 
running  on  very  rough  roads. 

33 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Gradually,  and  after  much  experimentation,  a  light 
ambulance  body  was  developed  by  the  Field  Service  of 
such  dimensions  that  it  could  comfortably  accommodate 
three  lying  or  five  sitting  cases,  and  at  a  pinch  could 
carry  seven  or  even  eight  sitting  cases.  The  design  pro- 
vided for  the  utmost  economy  of  space,  and  although 
the  cubical  content  was  perhaps  not  more  than  half  that 
of  the  body  of  an  ordinary  'ambulance  of  the  kind  con- 
structed to  carry  four  stretchers,  our  cars  could  carry 
three.  Letting  down  the  rear  gate,  two  stretchers  could 
be  slid  in  on  the  floor  of  the  car,  and  the  third  on  ingen- 
iously contrived  tracks  above.  When  not  in  use  these 
tracks  folded  up  and  rested  flat  against  the  sides  of 
the  ambulance,  while  two  seats,  which  were  also  folded 
against  the  walls  of  the  car,  could  be  instantly  dropped 
into  position,  and  the  car  transformed  in  a  moment  into 
an  ambulance  for  four  sitting  cases.  In  addition  to  these, 
room  was  provided,  by  specially  constructed  seats  placed 
outside  near  the  driver,  for  three  more  sitters,  making  it 
possible  in  clement  weather  to  carry  three  lying  and  three 
sitting  cases  on  each  trip.  In  emergencies  as  many  as 
eight  wounded  men  have  been  carried  at  one  time,  the 
running-boards  and  mud-guards  serving  as  extra  seats 
and  racks  for  the  soldiers'  equipment.  An  ambulance 
loaded  like  this  was  an  interesting  sight.  The  driver 
seemed  almost  buried  under  his  freight;  he  had  not  an 
inch  of  room  more  than  was  necessary  for  the  control  of 
his  car.  Covered  with  mud,  blood-stained,  with  startlingly 
white  bandages  against  their  tanned  skin,  with  puttees 
loose  and  torn,  their  heavy  boots  and  shapeless  uniforms 
gray  from  exposure,  and  with  patient,  suffering  faces  still 
bearing  the  shock  of  bombardment,  these  heaps  of 
wounded  rolled  slowly  from  the  pastes  de  secours  to  shel- 
ter and  care. 

In  the  earliest  of  our  ambulance  bodies  the  walls  and 
top  were  made  of  painted  canvas  which  had  the  ob- 
vious advantage  of  being  light;  but  canvas  walls  could 
not  be  easily  cleansed  and  disinfected,  nor  could  they 

34 


Side  view  showing  sheet-iron  apron  and  canvas  storni-cnrtains  to  protect  driver,  top- 
rack  for  spare  tires,  side-box  for  tools  and  gasoline  reserves,  also  front  panel  which 
swings  open,  allowing  driver  to  arrange  pillows  for,  or  give  water  to,  wounded  on 
stretchers. 


Rear  view  sliowin^^  toldinir  third-stretcher  tracks,  folding  seats,  rack  on 
wall  for  folded  stretcher,  holes  in  front  wall  and  canvas  pockets  in  rear 
door  for  extra  long  stretcher-handles,  folding  stej)  to  aid  in  entering. 

THE  LIGHT  FIELD  SERVICE  AMBULANCE 


INTRODUCTION 


be  made  to  exclude  wind  and  dust  and  winter's  cold. 
So  after  a  few  unsuccessful  experiments  with  an  extra 
canvas  lining,  we  abandoned  the  lighter  covering  alto- 
gether and  substituted  matched  boarding  of  tough  ma- 
hogany for  the  sides  and  top,  and  this  we  continued  to 
use  until  the  end  of  the  war. 

During  three  years  the  Field  Service  ambulance  was 
undergoing  incessant  adaptation  and  improvement  of  de- 
tail. In  it  were  gradually  incorporated  many  contrivances, 
suggested  by  experience,  for  the  comfort  of  the  wounded, 
for  the  protection  of  the  driver  against  bad  weather,  and 
for  the  orderly  storage  of  stretchers,  tools,  and  reserves 
of  oil,  gasoline,  tubes,  and  tires.  Some  of  these  can  be  seen 
on  the  accompanying  illustrations,  but  it  would  take  a 
long  chapter  by  itself  to  call  attention  to  all  of  them,  with 
their  evolution  and  the  reasons  therefor.^  It  suffices  to 
say  that  the  Field  Service  model,  which  was  the  product 
of  so  much  experiment  and  thought,  was  subsequently 
adopted  by  several  French  ambulance  formations  as  well 
as  by  the   Russians,   Roumanians,   and  Serbians,   and 

1  We  may  cite  one  or  two  detailed  instances  to  illustrate  the  way  in  which 
the  Field  Service  model  was  perfected.  For  example  we  had  designed  our 
ambulance  interiors  to  fit  the  official  standard  French  stretchers,  and,  both 
in  order  to  economize  space  and  to  prevent  the  stretchers  from  slipping, 
the  dimensions  were  trimmed  to  a  close  fit.  Great  was  our  subsequent  dis- 
may to  find  stretchers  at  different  points  on  the  front  varying  in  length 
and  some  with  handles  even  a  foot  longer  than  the  standard.  To  meet  this 
difficulty  which  would  sometimes  have  necessitated  the  painful  transfer 
of  a  wounded  soldier  from  one  stretcher  to  another,  we  had  openings  cut 
in  the  front  wall  of  the  ambulance  under  the  driver's  seat  and  folding  oil- 
cloth pockets  inserted  in  the  rear  door  and  curtains  into  which  obstreperous 
stetcher-handles  might  protrude.  Thus  the  problem  was  solved  without 
enlarging  the  body  or  increasing  the  weight  of  the  car,  and  all  our  later  cars 
were  made  with  these  devices. 

Again,  although  the  standard  stretchers  had  wooden  legs,  one  frequently 
met  stretchers  with  iron  legs  which  tore  the  floors  of  the  cars  as  the  stretch- 
ers were  pushed  in.  To  remedy  this  and  prevent  the  roughening  of  the  tracks, 
the  particular  boards  in  the  floor  and  on  the  upper  racks  over  which  the 
stretcher  legs  slid,  were  replaced  by  strips  of  hard  oak,  which  were  left 
unpainted  and  were  greased  to  facilitate  the  sliding  of  the  stretchers 
in  and  out.  This  detail  was  also  incorporated  in  all  subsequently  built  cars. 
Small  as  it  may  seem,  the  absence  of  this  provision  in  many  United  States 
Army  cars  sent  to  France  caused  much  inconvenience. 


35 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


eventually  by  the  United  States  Army  Ambulance  Serv- 
ice, but  not  by  the  latter  until  several  thousand  Ford 
ambulances  of  an  inconvenient  and  less  practical  model 
had  been  sent  to  France.  We  sent  over  a  finished  model 
to  the  United  States  in  191 7  which  was  exhibited  in  many 
cities,  and  as  a  result,  light  ambulances  built  upon  the 
Field  Service  plan  are  now  also  widely  used  in  this 
country  for  civilian  work. 

The  success  of  the  Field  Service  ambulances  answered 
every  apprehension  and  exceeded  every  anticipation. 
They  could  travel  over  roads  impossible  to  other  motor 
vehicles.  They  could  climb  the  narrow  zigzag  mountain 
paths  of  Alsace,  where  up  to  that  time  the  wounded  had 
only  been  carried  on  muleback  or  in  horse-drawn  carts. 
They  could  skim  over  and  pull  through  the  muddy  plains 
of  Flanders.  They  could  work  their  way  in  and  out  among 
passing  convoys,  and  if  they  were  on  a  blocked  road  they 
could  pull  their  way  through  the  adjacent  fields.  If  on  a 
dark  night  one  of  our  ambulances  ran  into  a  ditch,  or 
dropped  into  a  shell-hole,  it  only  required  the  help  of 
three  or  four  passing  soldiers  to  lift  out  the  car  and  set 
it  again  on  the  road.  The  advantages  of  these  ambulances 
were  particularly  evident  during  the  great  battle  of  Ver- 
dun in  191 6,  where  they  attracted  favorable  comment  from 
many  observers.  Among  such  comments  may  be  cited 
the  following  excerpt  from  the  London  Daily  Telegraph: 

For  fully  three  months,  until  railways  could  be  built,  France 
kept  up  this  endless  chain  of  four  thousand  autos,  two  thousand 
moving  up  one  side  of  the  roadway  from  Bar-le-Duc  as  the 
other  two  thousand  moved  on  the  opposite  side  from  Verdun. 
The  four  thousand  automobiles  included  also  the  ambulance 
autos  which  brought  back  the  wounded.  Many  of  these  were 
urgent  cases,  and  yet  these  ambulances  could  only  move  at 
the  established  rate  of  one  yard  per  second.  Hundreds  of  lives 
would  have  been  lost  had  it  not  been  for  the  sections  of  the 
American  Field  Service  stationed  at  Verdun.  Equipped  with 
small,  light,  speedy  cars,  capable  of  going  almost  anywhere 
and  everywhere  that  the  heavy  French  auto-ambulances  could 
not  go,  the  ''rush"  surgical  cases  were  given  to  these  Ameri- 
can drivers.  They  were  not  given  a  place  in  the  endless  chain, 

36 


INTRODUCTION 


but  were  allowed  to  dart  into  the  intervening  space  of  sixty 
feet  maintained  between  the  cars,  and  then  make  their  way 
forward  as  best  they  could.  When  an  open  field  offered,  they 
left  the  road  entirely,  and,  driving  across,  would  come  back 
into  line  when  they  could  go  no  farther  and  await  another 
chance  for  getting  ahead.  They  were  able  to  bring  the  wounded 
down  from  Verdun  often  twice  as  fast  as  those  who  came  in 
the  regular  ambulances,  and  always  without  ever  committing 
the  one  great  error  upon  which  the  life  of  France  depended, 
the  tying  up  for  a  single  instant  of  the  endless  chain  of  the  four 
thousand  automobiles  of  Verdun. 

It  was  immediately  after  this  demonstration  of  the  su- 
periority of  our  light  Field  Serv^ice  ambulances  in  the  Ver- 
dun battle,  that  the  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  French 
Army  requested  two  Field  Service  sections  to  be  sent  to 
the  Balkans  to  serve  with  French  troops  on  the  Serbian 
and  Albanian  front  in  regions  where  roads  were  some- 
times little  more  than  river-beds. 

In  such  manner,  then,  were  solved  the  three  principal 
problems  of  the  formative  days  in  France.  The  French 
Army  had  adopted  the  Field  Service  as  a  part  of  itself. 
The  Service  had  become  a  full-fledged  entity  with  an  es- 
tablishment of  its  own.  Its  tables  of  organization  had 
been  determined  and  its  type  of  equipment  adopted  and 
tested.  The  lines  had  been  staked  out  along  which  its 
future  might  develop.  That  future,  however,  depended 
primarily  upon  the  response  from  America. 

A.  Piatt  Andrew 


Ill 

THE  EFFORT  IN  AMERICA 

The  root  of  the  plant  is  not  unsightly  to  science,  though  for  chaplet  and 
festoon  we  cut  the  stem  short. 

Emerson 

The  Spirit  and  the  Purpose 
As  the  fruition  of  this  four  years'  effort  has  proven  of 
very  practical  value,  and  as  its  increase  has  been  strong 
enough  to  have  withstood  many  temperatures,  the  proc- 
ess of  its  growth  may  interest  any  one  of  that  good  legion 
in  this  country  which  has  toiled  so  steadfastly  in  the  wide 
fields  of  war  activity.  Out  of  the  great  number  of  Ameri- 
cans whose  partisanship  belonged  inevitably  to  France 
after  those  incredible  days  of  September,  191 4,  there 
were  many,  from  East  to  West,  who  labored  earnestly 
and  with  such  science  as  only  determination  teaches,  for 
the  building  of  this  Service  in  France.  Even  in  the  first 
days,  when  the  effort  was  still  too  near  earth  to  give 
promise  of  any  such  fine  branch  as  it  later  bore,  the  mere 
appeal  of  sending  our  own  men  and  our  own  cars  to  work 
actually  at  the  front  as  a  living  evidence  of  sympathy  — • 
and  the  possibility  that  we  might  so  help  even  a  little  in 
conserving  life  in  the  French  Army  —  sufficed  to  gener- 
ate the  energy  which  finally  carried  us  over  the  long  road 
to  completion.  Friendship  spent  to  its  best  purpose  is  re- 
flected clearly  enough  in  the  story  of  our  labor  in  France, 
but  here,  too,  far  in  the  background,  from  first  to  last, 
were  thousands  of  busy  hands  creating  the  opportunity 
of  which  that  record  is  the  fulfilment.  Many  volumes 
would  not  hold  the  list  of  generous  deeds  in  the  construc- 
tion, nor  all  the  sum  of  fine  desire  to  which  this  Service 
proved  expression.  Those  of  us  who  saw  the  first  giving, 
found  in  it  the  revelation  of  something  greater  than  any 
material  contribution,  and  it  is  doubtful  if  even  the 

38 


HENRY   D.   SLEEPER 


INTRODUCTION 


knowledge  now  of  all  the  good  achievement  can  outweigh 
for  us  the  value  in  the  experience.  Those  who  so  gave 
need  no  better  recompense  than  that  which  they  must 
find  in  memory,  and  our  only  tribute  can  be  the  full 
acknowledgment  that  without  their  spirit  a  great  pur- 
pose would  have  been  lost. 

Early  in  19 15,  when  the  prospect  of  a  long  war  had 
become  obvious,  and  when  no  gleam  of  any  such  help 
from  this  country  as  it  ultimately  gave  had  lighted  the 
horizon,  there  came  forward,  it  is  good  to  remember, 
that  creditable  host  of  every  age  and  rank  whom  neither 
the  barriers  of  politics  nor  distance  could  hold  back  from 
service.  Restless  to  offer  practical  expression  of  their  un- 
derstanding, and  of  their  respect  for  justice  and  great 
courage,  they  each  gave,  according  to  such  means  as 
was  possible  —  in  money  generously  and  constantly,  or, 
where  knowledge  and  education  could  serve,  they  spoke 
and  wrote  the  truth;  but  most  of  all,  perhaps,  those  who 
were  fortunate  enough  to  be  able  to  give  themselves,  by 
going,  helped  to  light  our  country  on  its  way,  not  so 
much  by  example  as  by  the  vision  many  of  them  were  able 
to  send  so  clearly  back  to  their  own  people. 

Among  the  first  of  these  were  a  few  young  Americans 
whom  chance  had  found  in  Europe  at  the  hour  of  in- 
vasion. Quick  to  take  advantage  of  their  fortune,  they 
offered  every  sort  of  service,  and  soon  most  of  them  were 
detailed  to  drive  such  ambulances  as  could  be  put  to- 
gether with  the  material  available  at  the  moment.  Dur- 
ing the  weeks  that  followed  they  labored  day  and  night 
to  probably  as  useful  and  stimulating  a  purpose  as  they 
had  ever  known.  Presently  their  letters  written  home  be- 
gan to  find  their  way  into  local  newspapers,  and  by  their 
direct  and  intimate  statement  of  conditions,  did  much 
not  only  to  arouse  sympathy,  but  to  formulate  sound 
judgments  in  communities  which  had  previously  shown 
only  passive  interest.  Later,  when  the  time  came  for  us  to 
make  a  general  campaign  for  men  and  cars,  every  town 
where   such   early   publicity   had   been   given,   proved 

39 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


doubly  ready  to  cooperate.  Doubtless  the  writers  of  these 
first  letters  felt  their  exploitation  to  be  out  of  accord  with 
modesty  —  or  even  a  breach  of  confidence  —  but  they 
may  afford  to  condone  a  fault  which  had  so  profitable  a 
result.  In  response  to  their  story  came  letters  to  our  head- 
quarters from  various  parts  of  the  country,  in  most  in- 
stances from  students  at  college,  expressing  interest  not 
only  in  joining  the  effort,  but  in  increasing  it  by  organiz- 
ing committees  for  recruiting  and  for  raising  ambulances. 
For  those  of  us  to  whom  a  generous  destiny  had  given 
the  building  of  the  Service,  this  meant  two  vital  things: 
first,  that  by  the  very  spontaneity  and  force  of  such 
means,  properly  utilized,  a  wide  response  would  surely 
be  forthcoming  and  a  large  work  of  conservation  founded ; 
second,  and  equally  stimulating  as  a  possibility,  that  by 
thus  enlisting  the  cooperation  of  young  men  from  uni- 
versities throughout  the  country,  a  way  would  be  opened 
of  establishing  what  might  develop  into  a  potent  and  ac- 
tive influence  for  the  Allied  Cause,  not  through  the  ordi- 
nary channel  of  printed  or  spoken  propaganda,  but  by 
virtue  of  the  daily  contact  which  these  men  would  have 
with  the  French  Army  in  action,  where  there  could  be  no 
foundation  for  any  conviction  but  truth.  We  realized  in 
those  first  days,  as  now,  after  four  years  of  constant  and 
intimate  relation,  does  every  member  of  this  Service, 
that  we  could  wish  our  friends  in  France  no  surer  talis- 
man of  support  than  that  all  the  world  should  know  the 
truth  of  them. 

Means  of  Fulfilment 
Worth  while  as  such  an  intention  undoubtedly  was,  the 
gulf  between  desire  and  fulfilment  soon  became  obvious. 
As  the  ambition,  beyond  maintaining  the  service  then 
existent,  was  to  so  increase  it  as  to  be  able  to  meet  any 
possible  need  which  the  French  Army  might  express,  a 
large  monthly  outlay  was  inevitable,  beside  the  raising 
of  a  sum  sufficient  for  the  purchase  of  cars,  and  all  other 
equipment.  We  had  a  good  cause,  an  unusually  sympa- 

40 


INTRODUCTION 


thetic  means  of  operation,  but  at  that  time  no  affiliation 
in  this  country  on  which  we  had  a  right  to  depend  for  any 
large  or  responsible  effort.  A  way  of  winning  friendship, 
a  competent  organization,  and  a  considerable  fund  had 
therefore  all  to  be  achieved  —  and  quickly.  The  first 
step,  of  course,  was  to  interest  a  few  individuals  to  such 
an  extent  as  might  warrant  making  a  general  appeal.  Al- 
though our  two  first  books,  Friends  of  France,  and  Am- 
bulance No.  10,  which  were  soon  to  prove  of  indispensa- 
ble help,  were  not  published  until  some  months  later,  we 
already  had  enough  letters  and  records  of  the  days'  work 
to  guarantee  its  value  and  justify  monetary  help.  Fore- 
most and  most  zealous  in  the  inception  of  the  fund 
was  Mr.  Edward  J.  de  Coppet,  of  New  York.  A  man  of 
distinguished  personality  and  character,  he  possessed  a 
rarely  generous  sense  of  responsibility  toward  those  with 
whom  a  broad  and  successful  life  had  brought  him  in  con- 
tact. Whatever  his  objective,  whether  in  furtherance  of 
individual  talent,  of  educational  or  philanthropic  pur- 
pose, or  some  civic  interest,  his  cooperation  was  both 
active  and  complete.  Most  widely  known,  perhaps,  as 
founder  of  the  Flonzaley  Quartette,  and  a  patron  of 
the  best  in  the  musical  life  of  New  York,  he  was  no  less 
a  factor  in  its  business  world,  as  senior  partner  of  de 
Coppet  &  Doremus.  A  generous  guide  and  cheering  phi- 
losopher to  a  large  and  varied  circle  of  friends,  he  turned 
his  influence  and  power  fully  toward  our  Service.  From 
the  moment  of  our  first  interview,  it  was  apparent  that 
rather  than  having  to  interest  him  in  our  behalf,  we 
should  have  to  strive  well  to  maintain  the  level  of  his  am- 
bition for  us.  After  a  kindly  but  very  thorough  considera- 
tion of  the  practicability  of  the  proposed  effort,  he  en- 
dorsed it  by  giving  a  number  of  ambulances,  a  thousand 
dollars  monthly  toward  maintenance,  and  in  addition  by 
setting  aside  a  sum  to  meet  the  immediate  needs  of  or- 
ganization. In  a  letter  of  July,  191 5,  expressing  his  hope 
for  our  future,  he  explained  that  in  establishing  this 
special  fund,  he  trusted  we  might  find  it  not  merely  an 

41 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


incentive  to  maintain  the  sections  then  in  the  field,  but 
by  publishing  records  of  their  days'  work,  and  by  speak- 
ing in  various  parts  of  the  country,  that  so  wide  an  in- 
terest might  be  aroused  as  to  make  possible  sending  to 
France  many  hundred  cars,  and  a  greater  number  of 
students  from  American  universities.  How  accurate  his 
foresight  proved  he  was  not  destined  to  know,  for  he  died 
within  the  year;  but  that  his  hope  was  so  much  more 
than  fulfilled  was  in  no  small  measure  due  to  the  spirit  of 
his  giving.  Many  an  obstacle  was  later  overcome  and 
many  a  trial  won  in  memory  of  our  high  obligation  to 
him.  All  that  he  had  intended  was  made  financially  possi- 
ble by  the  generosity  of  his  son,  Mr.  Andre  de  Coppet, 
and  by  the  prompt  and  constant  cooperation  thereafter 
of  Mr.  James  J.  Storrow,  of  Boston,  who  had  duplicated 
Mr.  de  Coppet 's  subscription,  and  had  given  us  his  own 
office  at  Lee,  Higginson  &  Co.,  for  our  American  head- 
quarters. 

Notwithstanding  the  sound  encouragement  which  two 
such  benefactions  meant,  we  could  not  properly  have 
succeeded  in  our  larger  intention  without  the  approval  of 
several  of  the  earliest  and  most  interested  friends  of  the 
Service.  Mr.  Robert  Bacon,  as  President  of  the  American 
Ambulance  Hospital  at  Neuilly,  under  the  auspices  of 
which  we  had  hitherto  operated,  was  one  of  the  first 
sponsors  of  the  Field  Service,  and  logically  most  deeply 
interested  in  its  successful  increase.  He  not  only  ex- 
pressed confidence  in  our  undertaking,  but  gave  us  the 
benefit  of  his  offices  and  staff  in  New  York,  became 
Treasurer  of  the  Fund,  and  by  wise  counsel  and  frequent 
cooperation  during  the  next  years,  did  much  in  the  mak- 
ing of  our  history.  Upon  Mrs.  Bacon,  as  Chairman  of  the 
American  Committee  of  the  Hospital,  there  devolved  at 
this  time  practically  the  whole  burden  of  raising  the 
larger  part  of  a  million  dollars  annually  to  maintain  that 
great  institution.  In  spite  of  the  magnitude  of  this  task, 
she  found  time  to  do  many  a  generous  deed  in  our  behalf, 
and  by  her  advocacy  of  our  cause,  established  our  iden- 

42 


ROBERT  BACON 

Died  May  29,  1919 


INTRODUCTION 


tity  through  her  committees  in  various  parts  of  the  coun- 
try, where  we  might  have  had  no  other  affiliations.  To 
two  other  friends  the  Service  owes  perhaps  as  fme  an  ob- 
ligation as  to  any  one.  From  the  hour  of  our  beginning 
until  the  demobilization  four  years  later,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
William  K.  V'anderbilt,  by  quick  endorsement  of  our 
whole  purpose,  and  loyal  support  through  every  trial, 
were  an  unfailing  stimulus  to  our  energy.  In  reminiscence 
of  our  early  history  in  America,  there  comes  ever  a  pro- 
cession of  grateful  memories  of  those  who  helped  when 
we  were  surer  of  our  desire  than  of  our  capacity.  Whether 
the  need  was  for  recruits,  or  cars,  or  effort  in  some  untried 
field,  to  each  of  them  belongs  some  word  or  deed  indis- 
pensable unto  the  day.  So  large  a  part  of  our  structure 
were  they  that  even  to  speak  briefly  of  what  they  did 
w^ould  claim  too  great  a  share  in  a  story  which  justly  be- 
longs to  youth  and  its  valiant  fulfilment  of  the  trust  they 
gave  into  its  keeping. 

Recruiting  the  Volunteers 

In  establishing  the  new  ambulance  sections,  it  was  essen- 
tial, if  the  volunteer  spirit  were  to  be  kept  alive,  not  only 
that  no  salaries  be  given,  but  that  in  every  possible  in- 
stance an  applicant  should  pay  his  own  expenses.  With 
the  French  Army  the  fact  that  these  Americans  whom 
they  saw  in  so  many  places,  sharing  the  risks  and  labor 
of  their  days,  did  so  w^holly  by  choice,  and  moreover  often 
spent  their  small  savings  for  the  privilege,  established 
the  sort  of  friendship  which  no  minor  misunderstandings 
could  efface.  Every  member  of  the  Serv'ice  endorsed  and 
respected  this  regulation,  but  it  occasionally  proved  a 
barrier  to  the  enlistment  of  men  whose  character  and  ex- 
perience exactly  fitted  them  for  the  work.  Particularly 
was  this  so  during  191 6  and  191 7,  when  the  need  for  re- 
cruits was  much  greater.  A  small  subsidiary  fund  was 
therefore  established  for  such  cases,  and  in  our  subse- 
quent history  appear  many  proofs  that  the  benefit  of 
money  well  spent  may  be  far  out  of  proportion  to  its 

43 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


quantity.  As  the  experience  of  four  years  shows  that 
practically  half  the  wounded  carried  were  saved  by  the 
promptness  with  which  our  cars  were  generally  able  to 
get  them  to  posies  de  secours,  and  as  an  ambulance  often 
carried  ten  men  a  day,  a  driver  who  had  been  given  the 
three  or  four  hundred  dollars  necessary  to  put  him  through 
his  six  months'  enlistment  could  afford  some  sense  of 
satisfaction  in  having  brought  back  so  worth-while  a 
return  on  the  investment  of  his  benefactor. 

Committees  were  soon  formed  to  arouse  interest  in  the 
Service  both  as  regards  finances  and  recruiting,  in  more 
than  a  hundred  towns  and  cities  throughout  the  United 
States.  A  few  of  these  in  the  Middle  and  Far  West  had 
permanent  recruiting  officers,  but  the  majority  w^ere 
temporary,  to  make  necessary  arrangements  for  the  illus- 
trated lectures.  These  committees  were  in  nearly  every 
case  financially  independent,  raising  their  owm  funds  to 
recruit  drivers  or  to  donate  ambulances,  but  sending, 
through  a  local  treasurer,  upon  fulfilment  of  their  effort, 
the  net  sum  of  contributions  to  the  American  Headquar- 
ters of  the  Service.  The  only  exception  to  this  system  was 
the  Chicago  office,  which  was  wholly  independent,  from 
first  to  last,  of  our  American  Headquarters,  financially 
and  otherwise.  Owing  to  the  liberal  contribution  of  driv- 
ers and  cars  which  that  city  and  neighboring  places  and 
universities  had  offered,  it  seemed  best  to  establish  a  per- 
manent committee  to  control  directly  all  the  business 
and  personal  questions  in  that  part  of  the  country.  To 
Mr.  Chauncey  McCormick,  and  later  to  Mr.  Charles  B. 
Pike,  who  succeeded  him  as  Mid- Western  Representa- 
tive, as  well  as  to  Mr.  Charles  L.  Hutchinson,  the  Treas- 
urer, and  Mr.  Samuel  Insull,  Chairman  of  the  Chicago 
Committee,  the  Service  owes  one  of  the  most  vital  and 
useful  factors  in  its  construction.  Recruiting  committees 
were  later  organized  in  thirty-three  of  the  larger  colleges 
and  universities,  consisting  generally  of  the  President, 
members  of  the  faculty,  and  representatives  of  the  lead- 
ing elements  in  the  student  body.  As  these  committees, 

44 


INTRODUCTION 


owing  to  the  limited  number  of  men  we  were  able  to  pro- 
vide for,  could  choose  only  about  forty  per  cent  of  the 
applicants,  the  character  of  the  personnel  was  of  the 
first  order. 

In  the  journeys  of  our  speakers  through  various  parts 
of  America  with  the  moving  pictures  which  the  French 
Army  had  taken  of  our  men  on  duty,  the  interest  in  and 
knowledge  of  events  in  Europe  varied  much  less  than 
might  have  been  expected.  Wherever  there  was  little  en- 
thusiasm it  seemed  generally  to  have  been  the  result  of 
even  less  first-hand  information.  Although  publicity  and 
businesslike  preparation  for  showing  the  pictures  natu- 
rally increased  the  size  of  our  audiences,  the  proportion- 
ate returns  seem  to  have  depended  more  on  the  sym- 
pathy and  revelation  of  the  pictures  themselves  than  on 
the  size  or  type  of  audiences. 

In  the  lecturer's  daily  report  of  a  trip  which  included 
nearly  thirty  of  the  larger  cities  and  towns  through  the 
Middle  West  and  West,  there  appear  two  rather  inter- 
esting pages  illustrative  of  this  fact,  written  from  differ- 
ent sections  of  the  country,  and  describing  the  result 
of  showing  the  pictures  before  two  audiences  of  wholly 
different  character.  He  writes  the  following  from  Cleve- 
land: 

I  find  that  the  utmost  forethought  and  energy  has  been 
spent  here  in  regard  to  our  pictures.  The  films  were  shown  in 
the  ballroom  of  the  Hotel  Statler.  Such  prominence  had  been 
given  to  the  event  through  a  continued  campaign  of  publicity 
that  practically  all  of  Cleveland  society  came  together  for  it. 
Early  in  the  evening  many  dinners  were  given  and  every  pri- 
vate dining-room  in  the  hotel  was  occupied.  After  the  prelimi- 
nary talk  and  pictures,  a  ball  took  place.  As  entrance  was  by  in- 
vitation, with  a  charge  of  ten  dollars,  quite  a  sum  had  been 
thereby  raised.  The  interest  shown  in  the  first  two  reels  was 
so  keen  that  an  earnest  appeal  was  then  made  for  ambulances. 
Twelve  were  promptly  contributed  in  this  interval,  and  four 
more  later.  Before  the  evening  was  over,  numerous  others  had 
been  added,  so  that  more  than  fifty  thousand  dollars  resulted. 
Within  two  days,  this  amount  had  risen  to  eighty-seven  thou- 
sand. 

45 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


A  week  later  there  appears  this  entry,  at  Butte,  Montana: 

This  is  essentially  a  mining  town,  and  with  foreigners  of 
every  description  —  some  of  them  whose  mother  countries 
were  of  the  Allies,  but  many  whose  antecedents  were  not  so. 
We  arrived  just  before  registration  day,  and  as  the  authorities 
expected  trouble,  saloons  were  closed,  the  militia  in  readiness, 
and  the  crowds  freely  displaying  the  red  flag.  Our  meeting  was 
held  in  a  large  theatre,  and  the  place  was  jammed.  I  and  several 
of  the  committeemen,  on  the  stage,  were  at  first  hissed.  Most 
of  this  disapproval  seemed  to  come  from  the  balconies.  The 
authorities  had  taken  every  precaution  to  avoid  trouble,  and 
there  were  plain-clothes  men  stationed  behind  the  scenery  on 
the  stage  to  protect  us.  Antagonistic,  or  at  best  indifferent,  as 
the  audience  had  proved  itself,  as  the  performance  went  on 
they  became  quiet.  After  the  pictures  were  shown,  there  was 
a  strong  appeal  made.  The  result  was  surprising.  When  the 
committee  in  charge  counted  the  proceeds,  it  was  found  that 
seven  hundred  dollars  more  had  been  given  by  the  miners  in 
the  balconies  than  by  the  representative  citizens  in  the  orches- 
tra, generous  though  the  latter  had  been.  That  this  liberal 
response  was  forthcoming  as  the  result  of  merely  relating  our 
story,  and  In  spite  of  preconceived  prejudice,  seems  proof  that 
any  war  apathy  that  may  exist  in  such  towns  as  this  In  the 
West  is  largely  the  result  of  lack  of  sympathetic  Information. 

The  final  comment  of  this  speaker  is  accurate  enough 
as  far  as  it  goes,  but  unfortunately  we  had  evidence  of 
something  more  than  lack  of  information.  Misinforma- 
tion and  malice,  both  covert  and  obvious,  were  daily 
acquaintances,  sometimes  from  clubs  or  organizations, 
and  often  from  individuals  —  all  of  Teuton  sympathy. 
During  the  first  two  years,  when  free  expression  of  anti- 
Ally  opinion  involved  no  penalty  of  ostracism,  as  it  later 
did,  we  met  at  least  some  spark  of  enmity  in  almost  every 
community,  and  not  infrequently  encountered  the  real 
flame.  While  we  could  not  hope  then  to  do  much  toward 
stamping  this  out,  we  knew  that  by  going  through  it  and 
succeeding  in  our  particular  determination,  we  should  be- 
come part  of  the  integral  triumph.  Once  or  twice,  owing 
to  this  enmity,  the  appointed  place  of  showing  our  pic- 
tures had  to  be  changed,  or  an  engagement  postponed, 
and  even  the  legality  of  our  sending  men  over  to  serve 

46 


INTRODUCTION 


with  the  French  Army  was  challenged ;  but  such  opposi- 
tion, it  is  almost  needless  to  say,  kindled  only  a  more  de- 
termined zeal  among  those  who  had  our  interests  in  hand, 
and  the  outcome  was  accordingly  always  in  our  favor. 

The  press  notice  and  publicity  resulting  from  these 
pictures  lent  a  keen  impetus  to  recruiting.  Harvard, 
Cornell,  California,  and  many  other  colleges,  and  cities 
throughout  the  country,  contributed  large  numbers  of 
men  and  cars.  The  first  section  of  men  to  go  across  as  a 
unit  was  sent  by  Leland  Stanford  University,  and  sailed 
directly  after  the  German  declaration  of  unrestricted  war- 
fare, two  months  before  this  country  entered  the  war. 
Stanford  later  recruited  two  more  sections,  and  within  a 
few  weeks  Princeton  and  Dartmouth  each  sent  four  com- 
plete units.  Harvard,  which  sent  over  two  units  at  this 
time,  contributed  from  first  to  last  nearly  three  hun- 
dred and  fifty  men  to  the  Field  Service.  The  city  of  St. 
Louis  gave  the  first  section  of  ambulances  and  drivers 
equipped,  and  wherever  necessary,  financed,  Cleveland, 
Chicago,  Buffalo,  and  many  other  cities  showing  similar 
activity  during  the  spring  of  191 7.  General  and  civic  in- 
terest in  the  departure  of  these  volunteers  was  evident  in 
many  ways  and  places,  and  even  before  our  actual  entry 
into  the  war  they  met  with  many  tributes  of  approval 
and  enthusiasm,  such  as  the  public  presentation  of  sec- 
tion flags,  and  various  other  farewell  ceremonies  in  their 
own  cities  and  in  New  York. 

One  of  the  finest  sections  {camion)  in  the  service,  both 
as  to  character  and  record,  was  the  youngest  as  to  per- 
sonnel. Phillips  Academy,  Andover,  shortly  before  the 
American  declaration  of  war,  organized  a  unit,  of  their 
own  volition,  w^ithout  our  solicitation,  and  despite  the 
natural  reluctance  of  their  families  to  have  them  go  be- 
fore the  day  of  necessity.  The  admirable  standard  of  An- 
dover *s  whole  war  service  was  due,  at  least  in  part,  to 
the  character  and  attitude  of  the  Principal,  Dr.  Stearns. 
Certainly  in  our  relations  with  the  representatives  of  a 
hundred  or  more  colleges  or  universities  in  America,  we 

47 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


met  no  finer  individual  force  than  his.  Among  the  many 
volunteers  who  crossed  on  the  steamer  with  this  unit, 
there  were  some  who  expressed  skepticism  as  to  such 
"boys"  being  able  to  "see  it  through."  In  a  friendly 
sparring  contest  in  settlement  of  this  point  a  few  days 
later,  however,  two  of  them,  Frank  Talmage  and 
Schuyler  Lee,  proved  ready  victors.  Almost  within  the 
year  of  their  arrival  in  France,  Lee  and  three  of  those 
who  went  with  him  —  Bruce,  Taylor,  and  Dresser  —  had 
died  in  battle.  Willingly  enough  they  gave  their  youth, 
and  their  right  to  the  light  of  life  and  friendship.  We  who 
knew  them,  and  all  that  they  were,  realize  the  fulness  of 
that  offering.  They  never  looked  back  but  to  quicken 
those  who  followed,  and  so  perhaps  led  more  surely  than 
they  knew.  Out  of  their  dreams  they  have  left  us  great 
realities  —  and  many  tasks  to  make  worthy  these  days 
that  are  still  ours. 


The  accumulating  pressure  immediately  following  this 
success  made  necessary  much  greater  staffs  in  all  our 
offices.  At  this  time  there  were  many  hundred  men 
weekly  to  be  dealt  with,  from  each  of  whom  we  had  to 
get  six  letters  of  recommendation,  a  birth  certificate,  a 
guaranty  of  non-German  parentage,  a  written  consent  of 
parents  or  guardian  when  the  applicant  was  under  age,  a 
certificate  of  inoculation,  a  driver's  license,  etc.,  in  addi- 
tion to  much  preliminary  correspondence.  During  the 
later  spring  it  proved  necessary  to  place  representatives 
in  the  War  Department,  to  adjust  military  technicali- 
ties; in  the  Bureau  of  Citizenship  in  Washington,  to 
attend  to  the  matter  of  passports;  in  the  Compagnie 
Generate  Transatlantique,  New  York,  to  arrange  details 
of  sailing;  in  the  Consulate,  and  various  other  offices. 
Moreover,  during  the  days  of  transition  which  followed, 
communication  had  to  be  established  between  all  our 
men  of  draft  age  at  the  front  and  their  respective  draft 
boards  in  all  parts  of  the  country  —  entailing  a  vast 
amount  of  complicated  correspondence. 

48 


ScHLYLER  Lee 
Corp.,  French  Av. 


George  E.  Dresser 
Sgt.,  U.S.  Tank  Corps 


ANDOVER   MEMBERS   OF  THE   FIELD   SERVICE 

Who  died  in  the  fulfilment  of  their  duty 


INTRODUCTION 


In  Boston,  by  courtesy  of  Lee,  Higginson  &  Co.,  our 
large  staff  was  amply  cared  for  as  to  working  quarters, 
for  in  this  emergency,  as  well  as  all  others  from  beginning 
to  end,  the  late  Major  Henry  L.  Higginson  gave  us  his 
support  and  personal  interest.  In  all  the  risks  and  swift 
decisions  of  those  days,  the  Service  had  no  more  con- 
stant watcher  and  ally  than  he.  Always  when  we  needed 
sound,  courageous  judgment  to  justify  or  to  confute  a 
seeming  obligation,  he  stoo^  ready  both  with  advice  and 
with  responsibility.  Appreciating  his  many  other  exact- 
ing interests,  we  might  perhaps  have  spared  him  our 
problems,  but  all  of  us  who  knew  him  felt  that  one  of  the 
finest  factors  of  his  citizenship  was  that  he  cared  more 
to  share  the  burdens  than  the  triumphs  of  his  friends. 
It  would  have  been  unwise,  and  impossible,  to  have  been 
near  him  and  not  to  have  turned  to  him  for  advice  in  the 
creation  of  any  great  work. 

In  New  York,  as  the  port  of  embarkation,  a  multitude 
of  recruits  had  to  be  helped  through  the  exigencies  of 
departure,  and  an  immense  number  of  problems  had 
daily  to  be  disposed  of.  In  facing  this  almost  limitless 
increase  of  detail,  we  had  looked  often,  if  with  inarticulate 
longing,  at  some  fine  offices  close  to  our  own,  and  belong- 
ing to  the  estate  of  the  late  Mr.  J.  Pierpont  Morgan. 
Large  and  perfectly  equipped  as  were  the  offices  which 
Mr.  Bacon  allowed  us  to  share,  all  the  American  interests 
of  the  Neuilly  Hospital  had  to  be  cared  for  there,  so  that 
the  omnivorous  demands  of  our  growth  seemed  an  im- 
position. Mr.  Bacon  had  already  gone  to  France  on  Gen- 
eral Pershing's  staff;  so  after  one  most  busy  and  con- 
gested morning,  we  were  spurred  into  calling  upon  Mr. 
J.  P.  Morgan,  and  to  confiding  in  him  our  difffculties. 
Within  the  hour  he  had  arranged  that  we  should  take 
immediate  possession,  gratis,  of  the  coveted  quarters. 
As  this  gave  us  five  large  rooms  directly  across  the  hall 
from  where  we  were,  we  had  only  to  reinstate  ourselves 
and  were  thereby  spared  the  inconvenience  and  confu- 
sion which  a  change  of  address  would  have  involved  at 

49 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


such  a  crucial  time.  Of  the  many  recollections  of  our 
four  years,  these  days  were  perhaps  at  once  our  most 
stimulating  and  our  most  discouraging;  at  one  hour  full 
of  new  opportunity  too  fine  not  to  be  met,  and  the  next 
moment  facing  some  impasse  of  red  tape  or  changing 
regulations.  The  race  to  meet  the  unprecedented  de- 
mands upon  our  energy  and  resources,  before  the  inevita- 
ble arrival  of  centralized  and  governmental  control  of  all 
such  work  as  ours,  was  only  won  by  the  younger  members 
of  our  staff,  who  labored  voluntarily  during  long  days, 
and  then  met  in  almost  nightly  council  in  order  to  deal 
better  with  their  problems  of  the  morning.  Many  a  thrust 
they  parried,  and  many  a  means  they  found,  where  those 
who  were  older  and  more  fearful  of  result  might  have 
paused,  and  so  missed  the  good  achievement.  Should 
there  be  here  and  there  some  one  who  remembers  an  in- 
convenience to  himself,  or  some  inaccurate  direction 
in  passing  through  these  ofHces,  let  him  wonder  now  if 
in  those  days  he  spent  his  energy  to  any  better  purpose 
than  did  they. 

Upon  the  entry  of  the  United  States  into  the  conflict, 
there  swiftly  followed  for  us  complexities  great  and 
small.  Foremost,  perhaps,  was  the  question  of  whether 
our  volunteers  then  in  France  might  continue  so  to  serve, 
and  whether,  at  least  for  the  present,  we  might  continue 
to  accept  more  recruits.  In  view  of  the  exigencies  of  mo- 
bilization and  conscription,  it  seemed  best  to  consult 
at  once  with  the  Secretary  of  War.  Although  Mr.  Baker 
had  shown  himself  in  various  ways  appreciative  of  the 
Field  Service,  he  naturally  had  not  felt  at  liberty  to  give 
any  public  expression  in  this  regard  until  April  7,  when 
he  wrote  as  follows: 

Confirming  our  conversation  of  this  morning,  I  beg  leave  to 
say  to  you,  as  the  Representative  of  the  American  Ambulance 
Field  Service,  that  the  War  Department  looks  with  apprecia- 
tion and  approval  upon  the  splendid  service  being  rendered  by 
American  citizens  in  France  in  association  with  the  French 
Army.  These  young  men  are  serving  their  own  country  in  the 

50 


INTRODUCTION 


highest  way  by  their  courageous  contribution  to  the  efficiency 
of  the  armies  of  those  associated  in  interest  with  us  in  this  war. 
I,  perhaps,  have  no  right  to  urge  that  they  remain  in  France 
now  that  the  United  States  has  entered  upon  active  miHtary 
preparation  in  the  conflict,  but,  at  least  for  the  present,  a  sub- 
stantial mumber  of  these  young  men  will  not  be  needed  here, 
and  the  training  they  are  securing,  while  a  mere  incident  to  the 
service  they  are  rendering,  will  qualify  them  to  be  of  especial 
value  in  the  American  Army  at  a  later  time. 

(Signed)  Newton  D.  Baker 

Secretary  of  War 

To  a  similar  telegram  sent  soon  after  by  the  Secretary  of 
War  to  our  California  and  Stanford  Units,  he  adds,  "I 
congratulate  you  that  you  are  about  to  join  a  chosen 
company  of  Americans  who  have  rendered  distinguished 
service." 

Thanks  to  these  offtcial  tributes  of  approval,  we  were 
able  to  continue  our  effort;  but  there  quickly  followed 
the  problem  of  the  release  of  our  men  from  universities 
without  the  loss  of  their  degrees.  Within  the  week,  how- 
ever, Cornell  University  had  passed  the  following  resolu- 
tions : 

Resolved,  that  the  University  Faculty  advises  that  the 
several  faculties  recommend  for  graduation  all  members  of  the 
senior  class  in  good  standing,  who  would  normally  graduate  in 
June  and  who  are  enrolled  or  may  enroll,  in  the  land  or  naval 
forces  of  the  state  or  nation,  and  whose  services  require  their 
absence  from  the  University. 

Resolved,  further,  that  the  above  provisions  apply  to  those 
students  who  may  become  members  of  the  American  Ambu- 
lance Field  Service  in  France. 

Immediately  thereafter,  Harvard,  Princeton,  Dartmouth, 
Leland  Stanford,  and  practically  all  the  universities  and 
colleges  throughout  the  country  passed  similar  resolutions 
granting  to  the  members  of  the  Field  Service  the  same 
academic  privileges  as  were  given  to  those  entering  the 
United  States  Army  or  Navy. 

During  191 5  and  191 6  the  growth  of  the  Service, 
though  constant,  was  very  gradual,  but  during  April, 
May,  and  June  of  191 7  it  exceeded  any  figures  which 

51 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


could  have  been  logically  foreseen,  especially  as  we  had 
made  less  effort  at  this  period  than  previously.  This  per- 
haps resulted  from  the  fact  that  very  many  of  those  who 
had  seen  our  pictures,  without  responding  at  the  time, 
felt  it  the  most  sympathetic  way  of  giving  after  this  coun- 
try had  actually  entered  the  war.  Until  this  time  we  had 
experienced  no  insuperable  difficulties  in  shipping  all 
necessary  material  to  France,  or  in  building  ambulances 
as  quickly  as  they  were  given.  Realizing  that  a  greatly 
increased  output  of  cars  would  be  necessary  to  meet  the 
increase  in  enlistments,  we  had  purchased  several  hun- 
dred extra  chassis,  a  great  quantity  of  extra  parts,  and 
had  engaged  to  send  to  France  a  number  of  mechanics  to 
meet  the  emergency.  \\^e  had  made  arrangements  in  re- 
gard to  shipment  with  the  automobile  companies,  the 
Clearing  House,  and  steamship  lines,  and  a  quantity  of 
chassis  were  on  the  piers  in  New  York  awaiting  embarka- 
tion. Just  at  this  period,  however,  the  French  Govern- 
ment, to  fill  an  exigent  need  for  aeroplane  construction, 
assumed  practically  the  entire  use  of  the  staff  and  shops 
of  Kellner,  at  Billancourt,  to  which  was  attached  our  as- 
sembling and  repair  park,  and  where  were  built  our  am- 
bulance bodies  for  the  chassis  we  shipped  from  America. 
At  the  same  time  there  occurred  an  unusual  shortage  of 
available  shipping  space  from  this  country  on  trans-At- 
lantic liners,  owing  to  exports  of  a  nature  vital  to  the  Al- 
lies, and  which  had  to  take  precedence  over  our  equip- 
ment, so  that  we  had  no  alternative  but  to  submit  to  the 
delay  at  this  time.  To  our  further  trial,  we  had  just  lost  a 
large  consignment  of  chassis  and  parts  by  the  torpedoing 
of  the  S.S.  Orduna,  moreover,  the  Red  Cross,  in  the  fulfil- 
ment of  its  titanic  task,  was  obliged  to  assume  complete 
use  of  the  Clearing  House.  As  soon  as  it  became  apparent 
that  we  could  not  for  the  time  being  promise  to  put  large 
numbers  of  new  cars  into  the  field,  we  refused  to  accept 
further  such  donations,  and  offered  to  individuals  and 
organizations  that  had  given  cars  at  this  time  the  prompt 
return  of  their  contributions,  if  they  felt  unwilling  to  sub- 

52 


Dollars 

Sep 

if 

Hoy 

pec 

Jan 

feb 

ITlarlApr 

mi 

Jun 

]^ 

Aii9 

5ep 

Oct 

nov 

Dec 

Jan 

Teb  niarlApr 

ffla^JunUiiflAuq 

il(yOOO 

^bSOOO 

1 

3(oOOOO 

1 

352000 

i 

3^-li-OOO 

1 

336000 

1 

328000 

1 

Chart 

illustrating 

Monthly 
Fluctuations 

in 

Subscriptions 

for 

AMBULANCE5 

520000 

1 

512000 

30^000 

296000 

— 1 

18  8  00  0 

280000 

■1 

272000 

■1 

l^ifOOO 

■i~ 

256000 

■1 

— 1 

lif^OOO 

■1 

2^000 

■1 

232000 

-!■■ 

12^000 

1 — 

■1 

2/6000 

ffi 

208000 

200000 

!■■ 

1^1000 

in 

19^000 

■ 
■ 

■ 

17(^000 

■ 

l(o8000 

■■■ 

iIqOOOO 

k 

ss 

152000 

l^f^OOO 

■riHBi 

I3I0OOO 

■riHHr 

128000 

■ 

■ 

■■■1 

120000 

i 

■■■1 

112000 

~l 

SSSSl 

10^000 

1 

ql^ooo 

!■■■■■ 

28000 

m 

■■■ 

80000 

m 

■■■■■■ 

72000 

i 

(o4-000 

1 

■■■■■■■ 

5  Good 

1 

■■■■■■■1 

^8000 

■ 

■■■■■■■1 

ipOOOO 

im 

32000 

▲ 

mm 

■■■■■■ 

El 

2^00 

m 

mm 

■■■■■■ 

iGooo 

Am 

L 

imm 

■■■■■■■■( 

8000 

^^ 

^ 

fc>_ 

^ 

a 

■ 

■ 

■ 

■ 

■ 

■ 

■ 

■ 

■ 

■ 

■ 

■ 

■ 

■ 

INTRODUCTION 


mit  to  the  inevitable  delay.  Too  warm  a  tribute  cannot 
be  paid  to  those  who  had  so  contributed,  and  who  then 
gave  proof  of  very  generous  understanding  and  confi- 
dence, for  of  the  several  hundred  cars  received  just  pre- 
viously we  were  asked  for  the  return  of  only  four.  Within 
the  next  few  months  every  car  given  had  gone  into  the 
field  and  subsequently  served  its  purpose  well  with  the 
United  States  Army  Ambulance  Corps. 

Perhaps  the  most  exigent  problem,  however,  resulting 
from  the  unexpected  difftculties  of  shipment  and  con- 
struction, was  that  several  hundred  drivers  who  had  just 
sailed  could  not  be  advised  of  the  changed  circumstances 
until  their  arrival  in  France;  also,  we  had  just  accepted 
as  drivers  many  men  who  had  left  their  former  addresses 
too  late  to  receive  the  notification  before  arriving  in  New 
York  to  sail,  and  there  naturally  resulted  many  personal 
equations  to  be  solved.  But  the  men  showed  a  most  gen- 
erous spirit  of  readiness  to  adapt  themselves  to  delays 
and  disappointments  during  these  weeks,  and  putting 
aside  their  individual  preferences,  did  the  most  helpful 
part. 

The  Camion  Service  and  Militarization 

Just  prior  to  this,  during  a  period  of  unusual  activity  in 
the  region  of  Soissons,  we  had  received,  through  Com- 
mandant Doumenc,  Director,  at  the  French  Ministry  of 
War,  of  the  Automobile  Service,  an  urgent  appeal  to  the 
effect  that  if  it  should  prove  possible  for  us  to  supply  them 
with  personnel  for  transport  sections  for  the  carrying  of 
ammunition  and  supplies,  we  could  so  render  the  utmost 
service.  We  were  advised  that  they  had  a  suflficient  num- 
ber of  trucks,  but  were  at  this  time  ten  thousand  drivers 
short  where  it  was  proposed  we  should  cooperate.  In 
view  of  the  exigency  of  this  need,  and  the  temporary 
difHculties  in  the  output  of  ambulances,  we  could  not 
have  done  otherwise  than  accept  this  obligation.  As  soon 
as  feasible,  therefore,  this  new  branch  of  the  Service  was 
inaugurated,  and  an  appeal  made  to  men  who  had  re- 

53 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


cently  arrived  to  help  in  the  accomplishment  of  this  pur- 
pose. Some  of  them,  who  had  sailed  just  before  this  de- 
velopment, of  course  felt  morally  bound,  on  arriving,  to 
serve  only  in  accordance  with  the  understanding  of  their 
friends  in  America  who  had  made  it  possible  for  them  to 
come  over.  Through  the  courtesy  of  the  French  Army, 
which  soon  after  loaned  us  some  ambulances  pending 
the  assembling  and  equipment  of  the  last  contingent  of 
our  own  cars,  the  desire  of  a  majority  of  the  men  who 
were  willing  to  wait  was  accomplished  after  a  few  weeks' 
delay. 

A  large  number  of  drivers,  however,  were  free  to 
choose,  and  though  perhaps  preferring  ambulance,  ac- 
cepted the  Camion  Service.  Whatever  the  value  of  our 
work  in  France  has  been,  these  men  should  have  the  satis- 
faction of  remembering  the  double  share  of  credit  which 
is  theirs.  To  their  spirit  was  no  doubt  largely  due  the  fact 
that,  hard  and  unromantic  as  this  work  was,  the  eight 
hundred  Field  Service  men  who  entered  the  Reserve  Mal- 
let later  fulfilled  so  effectively,  as  their  record  proves,  a 
highly  important  purpose. 

The  taking  over  of  the  Ser^'ice  by  the  United  States 
Army  was  not  only  to  be  desired,  but  for  several  reasons 
was  inevitable.  Our  declaration  of  war  and  the  subse- 
quent preparations  for  sending  over  our  expeditionary 
force,  which  involved  strict  draft  regulations,  had  placed 
members  of  a  volunteer  organization  at  the  front  in  a 
technically  ambiguous  position.  While  the  record  and 
standing  of  our  ambulance  drivers  with  the  French  Army 
was  of  the  highest  order,  as  the  honors  and  citations  con- 
ferred upon  them  testify,  it  was  obvious  that  the  work 
that  they  had  undertaken  voluntarily  had  since  become 
an  obligation.  The  changed  circumstances  made  many 
hundred  of  our  men  feel  that  having  fulfilled  the  original 
spirit  of  their  intention,  they  were  now  free  to  enlist  as 
they  chose.  During  the  subsequent  months  a  large  num- 
ber entered  artillery,  aviation,  or  other  branches  of  the 
army.  About  sixty  per  cent,  however,  remained  as  mem- 

54 


INTRODUCTION 


bers  of  the  ambulance  and  transport.  More  than  a  hun- 
dred of  our  men,  with  fine  records  and  long  experience, 
who  were  anxious  to  enHst  for  the  duration  of  the  war, 
were  rejected  on  account  of  slight  physical  defect.  Be  it 
said  to  their  credit,  the  majority  of  them  subsequently 
entered  the  French  Artillery  School  at  Fontainebleau, 
and  graduating  in  due  course,  became  officers  in  the 
French  Army. 

The  most  potent  factor,  however,  necessitating  our 
enrolment  in  the  United  States  National  Army,  was  that 
when  the  first  French  commission  arrived  in  Washing- 
ton in  May,  191 7,  General  Jofifre  was  asked  by  Surgeon- 
General  Gorgas  what  immediate  service  the  United 
States  Army  Medical  Department  could  do  for  France. 
His  reply  was  a  request  that  the  United  States  should 
undertake,  as  far  as  possible,  the  responsibility  of  caring 
for  the  wounded  of  the  French  armies  at  the  front.  A 
more  satisfying  tribute  could  scarcely  have  been  paid  the 
Field  Service  than  this  request  that  the  work  it  had  car- 
ried on  in  France  for  more  than  two  years  should  be 
supplemented  and  entirely  assumed  by  Americans.  As  a 
consequence,  General  Gorgas  authorized,  through  the 
Secretary  of  War,  the  organization  of  the  United  States 
Army  Ambulance  Service  at  Allentown. 

During  the  period  of  our  transition  from  volunteer  to 
regular  service,  our  staffs  offered  the  Army  as  complete 
cooperation  as  they  were  able,  recruiting  for  it  through 
our  University  committees,  and  all  our  offices,  as  long  as  it 
proved  possible.  If  we  could  not,  perhaps,  wholly  repress 
a  sense  of  regret  in  having  to  yield  all  rights  of  adminis- 
tration, and  the  satisfaction  which  an  intimate  knowledge 
of  each  day's  achievement  in  such  work  as  this  meant,  it 
was  compensation  to  remember  that  the  Americans  whose 
initiative  and  energy  during  the  first  three  years  had 
made  so  fine  a  record  in  France,  and  we  whose  opportu- 
nity it  was  to  stand  behind  them,  were  able  to  turn  over 
to  our  own  Army  at  one  of  the  greatest  moments  of  need 
in  its  history,  so  useful  an  organization. 

55 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


The  Debt  to  American  Youth 

No  true  ledger  of  our  account  can  exist  without  recording 
the  one  obligation  underlying  and  supporting  all  the 
traffic  of  our  days.  Every  one  who  helped  in  this  country 
to  make  the  Service  will  surely  most  care  to  acknowledge 
the  debt  we  owe  to  American  youth.  In  relation  to  our 
work,  certainly,  its  influence  was  paramount,  and  upon 
its  desire  to  be  part  of  a  great  purpose  we  were  able  to 
build  a  very  useful  structure.  Changing  needs  and  com- 
plications made  many  a  day's  labor  seem  on  moving 
sands,  but  through  the  unflagging  energy  and  resource  of 
those  who  served  us  by  speaking  and  recruiting  through- 
out this  country,  and  by  doing  their  part  in  France,  the 
work  was  at  last  well  accomplished.  To  them  is  truly  due 
the  fulfilment  —  and  they  brought  back  high  interest  on 
all  that  we  were  able  to  contribute.  Had  they  done  any- 
thing else,  or  anything  less  than  they  did,  the  rest  of  the 
effort  would  have  proved  of  little  consequence.  Those  of 
us  whose  chance  it  has  been  to  have  had  a  part  in  the  ad- 
ministration of  the  Service,  to  have  shared  its  success, 
and  to  have  gained  through  it  much  credit  and  many 
friendships,  owe  to  these  men  all  of  this,  and  more.  Dur- 
ing the  four  years  when  they  passed  through  our  Ameri- 
can offices,  and  later  gave  fine  measure  of  their  character 
in  France,  they  were  among  the  first  to  bear  evidence  of 
a  spirit  which  existed  in  this  country  behind  the  quies- 
cence of  the  first  three  years  of  the  war  —  and  afterward 
among  the  foremost  of  those  who  made  the  larger  sacri- 
fice, and  won.  The  pages  and  roster  of  this  book  are  testi- 
mony enough  of  the  first  and  final  worth  of  what  they 
gave.  Some  of  them  fought  and  died  as  they  would  most 
have  wished.  Many  of  them  had  opportunity  for  leader- 
ship, and  so  distinguished  themselves;  to  others  chance 
gave  the  less  inspiring  share  of  obscure  service,  but 
where  their  part  held  for  them  only  unheroic  toil  and 
long  months  of  inaction,  they  did  equally  well. 

Through  the  burdens  which  we  have  been  privileged 

56 


INTRODUCTION 


to  assume  in  their  support,  most  of  us  have  probably 
reached  as  high  a  mark  of  satisfied  effort  as  we  shall 
know.  Remembering  that,  and  realizing  how  much  they 
have  passed  through  that  was  worth  while,  we  may  have 
sympathy  with  their  problem  of  the  future.  If  for  us 
there  is  some  poignance  in  having  finished  an  era  of 
unselfish  labor,  even  less  stimulating  it  must  be  for 
younger  men  to  suspect,  as  some  of  these  doubtless  do, 
that  they  have  reached  their  zenith.  In  all  the  pageantry 
of  war,  with  its  vividness  and  shadow,  many  new  values 
have  come  before  them,  and  their  imagination  has  been 
quickened  so  that  their  question  is  no  longer  merely 
that  of  "making  a  living."  As  we  pause  on  finishing  a 
book  that  has  taken  us  far  out  of  ourselves,  so  the  major- 
ity must  feel  in  having  closed  the  most  stirring  chapter 
of  their  lives.  Keen  enough,  as  they  have  proven,  to  give 
their  utmost,  they  are  not  now  content  to  waste  it. 

For  whatever  of  discomfort  and  occasional  resent- 
ment their  days  in  France  may  have  held,  there  was 
compensation  in  the  living  drama.  There,  too,  duty  was 
clear,  and  they  knew  that  in  the  end  the  experience 
would  be  worth  all  cost.  Finally,  they  had  there  compan- 
ionship and  mutual  understanding  with  a  greater  number 
of  those  about  them  than  any  other  phase  of  life  could 
bring. 

The  spirit  which  led  them  to  France  by  inclination,  be- 
fore the  time  of  obligation,  is  the  same  that  in  considering 
the  future  makes  them  hesitate  to  dedicate  themselves 
permanently  to  a  purpose  with  little  human  interest.  In 
the  maze  of  possibilities  they  have  come  home  to  face, 
some  may  be  fortunate  in  finding  their  desire;  but  very 
many  will  have  to  be  content  with  small  monotony,  un- 
less those  of  us  whose  lives  are  more  established  can 
ser\'e  them  to  finer  purpose.  That  they  are  unconscious 
of  the  debt  we  owe  makes  the  obligation  doubly  ours. 
When  one  of  these  men  cares  to  bring  us  the  question  of 
his  future,  we  may  rightly  feel  inclined  to  stand  up,  not 
only  in  tribute  to  what  he  has  done,  and  the  way  he  has 

57 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


done  it,  but  because  so  largely  in  him  lies  the  solution  of 
the  disorder  war  has  left.  It  is  for  us  to  make  him  com- 
prehend our  confidence  in  his  capacity.  If  we  can  put 
many  such  men  forward  with  the  knowledge  of  our  reli- 
ance on  their  strength  and  resource  in  meeting  new  prob- 
lems in  their  own  country,  as  they  have  met  the  greater 
crisis,  we  shall  have  done  something  for  them,  more  for 
ourselves,  and  much  for  posterity. 

As  a  useful  factor  in  Franco-American  relations,  this 
small  group  of  volunteers  may  still  prove  of  value  beyond 
their  numerical  proportion.  With  such  influence  as  is 
theirs  by  affiliation  and  training,  with  their  willing  sense 
of  responsibility,  and  of  the  debt  they  each  wish  to  pay 
for  the  fine  friendship  and  example  they  found  in  France, 
they  will  do  much  to  see  that  that  which  they  have  won 
shall  not  be  wasted. 

Nor  has  France  forgotten  the  spirit  of  our  coming.  In 
the  spring  of  191 7,  when  we  were  soon  to  become  a  part 
of  the  American  Army,  a  distinguished  French  states- 
man, then  on  a  mission  to  this  country,  said:  ''If  in  the 
course  of  events  which  are  to  come  the  Field  Service  may 
seem  to  lose  its  identity,  that  really  can  never  be  possible. 
To  every  man  in  our  Army  it  is  the  finest  tribute  of 
friendship  you  could  have  paid  us;  and  your  work  will  be 
always  a  page  in  the  history  of  France." 

It  has  become  now  as  fairly  a  page  of  credit  in  Ameri- 
can history,  that  our  future  compatriots  may  gratefully 
read,  though  they  perhaps  pass  over  it  with  little  realiza- 
tion of  many  values  within  the  obvious  story.  For  each  of 
us  who  has  had  even  a  small  part  in  its  making,  it  is  the 
chapter  we  shall  ever  know  best  by  heart,  and  in  relation 
to  the  whole  sum  of  our  advantage  in  the  doing,  these 
volumes  can  seem  but  fragmentary  facts  and  figures, 
since  between  the  lines  for  us  there  lies  unwritten  so  many 
an  example  to  make  clearer  the  problem  of  our  days. 

In  the  beginning  we  sought  our  task  with  the  will  to 
help  whenever  and  however  it  should  prove  possible;  but 
just  how  small  our  sacrifice  was  destined  to  be,  in  com- 

58 


INTRODUCTION 


parison  to  that  of  the  friends  we  meant  to  serve,  nor  how 
sure  our  own  compensation,  we  could  not  have  foreseen. 
We  went  forth  unknowing.  But  if  we  were  not  deep 
enough  of  vision  to  first  approach  with  fitting  deference 
what  were  to  prove  ultimate  lights  for  many  of  us,  nor  to 
suspect  how  deeply  the  revelation  might  govern  our  per- 
spective, now,  after  these  years,  we  stand  in  still  respect 
for  what  we  have  learned.  In  weighing  all  the  privilege 
and  gain  this  Service  must  ever  find  its  greatest  asset  in 
having  served  from  first  to  last  beside  the  Army  and  the 
people  of  France  —  their  friends  through  many  dark, 
immortal  days.  Constancy  to  such  a  relation  would  in 
itself  have  been  enough  to  make  its  members  ever  zealous 
in  duty  —  but  even  selfishness  could  have  sought  no 
larger  profit  than  that  which  they  have  gathered.  For 
most  of  us  it  has  been  truly  sic  itur  ad  astra,  and  on  that 
far  journey  there  passed  before  us  a  standard  good  to  re- 
member and  to  uphold  in  facing  whatever  part  each  of  us 
may  have  yet  to  do  for  this  country  of  our  own.  In  going 
first  to  France  we  took  what  seemed  our  best,  but  now 
returning  we  have  brought  a  finer  thing  than  ever  we 
were  able  to  put  upon  the  altar  of  our  good  intention. 

Henry  D.  Sleeper  ^ 


*  Of  Boston,  Massachusetts;  American  Representative  of  the  Field  Serv- 
ice, 1915-16-17;  later  Director  of  the  A.F.S.  Headquarters  in  France, 
1918-19. 


'  IV 
THE  GROWTH  OF  THE  SERVICE 

Bien  avant,  1  ame  de  la  France,  courbee  sur  la  tranchee  qui  arritait  le 
flot  envahisseur,  avait  ete  profondement  emue  quand  elle  avait  appris,  aux 
heures  sombres,  qu'en  Amerique  les  actes  avaient  precede  les  paroles. 

Jules  J.  Jusserand,  1917 

The  story  of  the  American  Field  Service  will  be  found 
in  the  section  histories  and  in  the  narratives  that  follow, 
a  story  which  shows  the  life  that  these  American  volun- 
teers shared  with  their  French  comrades  for  upward  of 
two  years.  The  reader  will  judge  for  himself  what  the 
Servdce  gave  and  what  its  members  gained  in  serving.  He 
will  find  there,  above  all,  what  these  three  thousand  men 
saw  and  learned  of  the  French  soldier,  with  whom  they 
considered  it  a  privilege  to  serve,  during  the  years  before 
America's  entry  into  the  war. 

The  opportunity  which  these  three  thousand  men  en- 
joyed was  necessarily  the  result  of  the  founding  and  per- 
fecting of  an  organization  which  could  fulfil  a  need  of  the 
French  Army.  It  was  necessary,  not  only  to  foresee  its 
value,  but,  once  this  w^as  established,  so  to  organize  it  as 
to  meet  the  demands  of  the  army  it  was  serving.  It  is  the 
purpose  of  this  article  to  show,  by  following  the  growth 
of  the  Service,  the  various  steps  which  had  ,to  be  taken 
to  meet  the  continual  demands  of  the  Automobile  Serv- 
ice of  the  French  Army;  and  it  will  be  seen  that  these 
demands  kept  growing  as  the  Service  gained  in  efhciency 
and  size. 

It  is  of  interest  to  note  that  not  only  was  there  no 
precedent  to  follow,  but  also  that  the  ever-changing 
needs  of  war  continually  called  for  unforeseen  develop- 
ments of  the  Serv^ice.  This  was  a  task  which  required 
confidence,  vision,  and  courage  in  its  leadership.  Mr. 
Andrew  realized,  from  the  moment  of  its  first  success  in 

60 


INTRODUCTION 


191 5,  that  in  perfecting  the  organization  in  every  detail 
he  was  laying  a  foundation  which  could  be  built  upon  as 
money  and  volunteers  were  forthcoming.  His  task  from 
then  on  was  twofold:  first,  to  maintain  the  standard  of 
efficiency  of  the  sections;  and,  secondly,  to  increase  the 
Service  as  rapidly  as  possible.  That  he  accomplished  this 
task  the  story  of  the  Service  will  show.  Its  accomplish- 
ment meant  not  only  the  transportation  of  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  French  wounded,  thousands  of  tons  of  shells 
and  supplies,  but  also,  and  what  was,  perhaps,  of  equal 
importance,  the  exertion  of  an  ever-increasing  influence 
on  American  thought  and  sympathy  in  favor  of  France 
and  the  Allied  Cause. 

This  chapter  can  be  divided  into  three  distinct  parts  — 
for  each  of  the  three  years  was  distinguished  by  certain 
results  —  results  upon  which  the  following  year's  plans 
and  work  were  based.  The  first  year  saw  the  success  of  the 
initial  conception  of  the  Service ;  the  second  year  showed 
relatively  small  but  very  definite  growth,  and  gave  a  full 
participation  of  the  Service,  with  the  complete  confidence 
of  the  French  Army,  in  the  great  battle  of  Verdun.  In 
addition,  the  organization  in  America  was  developed  and 
experience  was  gained  in  this  branch  which  gave,  in  the 
third  year,  thirty-three  ambulance  sections  and  fourteen 
transport  sections  to  the  French  armies  at  a  most  nec- 
essary time,  for  the  hardest  of  battles  were  to  be  fought 
this  year  at  many  places  along  the  front.  Moreover,  it  in- 
sured the  incorporation  of  both  branches  of  the  Service  in 
the  United  States  Army. 

1915 
In  the  month  of  April,  191 5,  all  the  preliminary  arrange- 
ments for  a  volunteer  ambulance  service  on  the  front 
had  been  completed.  These  arrangements  had  proved 
no  easy  task,  for  the  French  authorities  had  had  some 
bitter  experiences  with  spies  masquerading  as  neutrals 
and  much  disillusionment  as  to  the  value  of  amateur  war- 
workers.  They  were  slow  to  be  convinced  that  an  organ- 

61 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


ization  composed  entirely  of  amateur  neutrals  could 
give  any  real  service.  They  had  been  perfectly  willing  to 
use  volunteers  in  the  evacuation  of  hospitals  in  the  rear 
zone,  but  it  was  not  until  Mr.  Andrew  had  succeeded  in 
persuading  these  authorities  that  young  American  volun- 
teers were  more  fitted  for  work  at  the  front,  and  had 
guaranteed  that  only  those  whose  loyalty  to  the  Allies 
was  unmistakable  would  be  allowed  to  serve,  that  at  last 
they  permitted  sections  to  be  formed  under  army  stand- 
ards. So,  in  April,  three  sections  were  partially  formed 
from  the  volunteers  and  cars  which  had  heretofore  been 
serving  in  scattered  squads.  These  sections,  when  com- 
pleted, consisted  of  twenty  ambulances,  a  staff  car,  a 
supply  car,  each  with  a  personnel  of  an  American  Com- 
mandant-Adjoint and  about  twenty-five  drivers,  in  ad- 
dition to  the  French  personnel.  Section  Sanitaire  Ameri- 
caine  N^  i,  as  it  was  officially  called,  being  formed  from 
squads  already  working  near  Dunkirk,  was  at  first  sta- 
tioned in  that  vicinity;  Section  Sanitaire  Americaine  N^  2 
was  organized  in  Paris  and  sent  to  Lorraine;  Section 
Sanitaire  Americaine  N°  j  was  also  formed  in  Paris,  and 
was  ordered  to  the  Vosges  Mountains. 

The  service  rendered  by  these  three  sections  during  this 
year  was  one  of  real  achievement  which  went  even  beyond 
what  had  been  hoped  for.  Section  One,  having  given  an 
excellent  account  of  itself  in  the  long-range  bombard- 
ments and  air  raids  at  Dunkirk,  was  rewarded  by  being 
entrusted  with  important  work  in  Belgium  at  Coxyde, 
Nieuport,  Poperinghe,  Elverdinghe,  Crombeke,  and  other 
postes  de  secours  during  the  battles  along  the  Yser.  Sec- 
tion Two  had  to  win  recognition  in  a  region  already  serv^ed 
by  a  French  sanitary  section  and  to  which  it  was  attached 
to  do  secondary  work.  The  Section  not  only  accomplished 
its  own  work,  but  made  it  possible  for  the  French  sec- 
tion to  be  withdrawn  from  this  sector,  the  Americans 
taking  over  the  postes  de  secours  in  and  near  Bois  le 
Pretre,  a  sector  at  that  time  renowned  for  its  continual 
and  heavy  fighting.  Section  Three  was  entrusted  with  a 

62 


STEPHEN    (JALATTI 


INTRODUCTION 


sector  in  which,  previously,  automobile  evacuations  could 
only  be  performed  far  back  of  the  lines  owing  to  the 
mountainous  country.  The  Section  was  able  to  send  its 
light  cars  up  over  the  narrow  mountain  roads  to  the 
pastes  near  Metzeral  and  at  Hartmannsweilerkopf,  thus 
substituting  automobiles  for  mules  which  had  been,  up 
to  that  time,  the  only  means  of  transporting  wounded. 

The  three  sections  had  faced  three  separate  transpor- 
tation problems.  In  Belgium,  the  cobblestone  roads  with 
the  deep  mud  had  prov^ed  no  obstacle ;  at  Pont-a-Mousson, 
the  heavy  ravitaillemeiit  convoys  had  not  slowed  up  the 
small  ambulances;  in  the  Vosges  Mountains,  the  steep 
grades  had  given  the  opportunity  for  the  replacement  of 
the  mule.  There  could  be  no  doubt  that  the  light  car 
which  had  been  selected  was  an  admirable  choice  and 
that  it  had  fulfilled  every  test  of  front-line  work. 

Although  the  solution  of  mechanical  difficulties  was  of 
vital  importance,  the  success  of  these  three  Sections  was 
due  at  least  as  much  to  the  type  of  men  who  had  volun- 
teered for  this  service.  Already  the  universities  w^ere 
furnishing  the  largest  quota  of  men.  They  brought  to 
their  work  youth  and  intelligence,  initiative  and  courage. 

In  November,  19 15,  at  the  request  of  General  Head- 
quarters, a  fourth  section  took  its  place  in  the  field  — 
perhaps  the  greatest  proof  of  the  efficiency  of  the  three 
early  sections. 

The  year  191 5  closed  with  three  sections  well  estab- 
lished and  a  fourth  finding  its  place  on  the  line.  The 
initial  problems  of  section  organization  and  section  re- 
lationship with  the  French  Army  had  been  defined,  and 
four  French  divisions  were  being  officially  served  by 
American  volunteer  ambulance  sections. 

1916 

It  was  evident  at  the  beginning  of  191 6  that  the  Service 
now  firmly  established  at  the  front  was  the  natural  ex- 
pression of  that  desire  to  give  active  and  personal  aid 
felt  by  many  Americans.  To  those  who  were  in  the  Serv- 

63 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


ice,  and  who  knew  what  man-power  meant  to  France, 
even  at  that  time,  it  would  have  been  a  betrayal  of  their 
own  action  if  they  had  not  wished  others  to  follow  their 
example. 

To  pursue  this  policy,  it  was  necessary  to  give  pub- 
licity in  America  to  the  work  the  American  Field  Service 
was  accomplishing  as  well  as  to  lay  plans  for  the  probable 
expansion  of  the  organization.  It  was  a  suitable  period 
for  this  work.  The  early  winter,  from  the  point  of  view 
of  the  sections,  was  not  an  active  one.  Section  One, 
attached  to  a  colonial  division  had  moved  to  the  Somme ; 
Section  Two  was  still  at  Pont-a-Mousson;  Section  Three 
had  moved  from  Alsace  at  the  end  of  January  to  repos 
near  Nancy ;  and  Section  Four  was  receiving  its  baptism 
in  the  rather  quiet  Toul  Sector. 

The  material  for  a  book,  Friends  of  France,  was  collected 
and  sent  to  America;  moving  pictures  were  arranged  for 
with  the  help  of  the  French  Government,  with  a  view,  not 
only  of  showing  at  home  what  the  Service  was  accomplish- 
ing, but  especially  of  presenting  through  the  eyes  of  these 
American  volunteers  the  appeal  of  the  Army  with  which 
they  were  serving  and  the  truth  of  its  cause. 

As  for  the  interior  organization  of  the  Service  itself, 
a  new  system  for  the  repair  work  of  the  cars  was  estab- 
lished. Previously  spare  parts  and  Ford  chassis  had  been 
bought  from  the  Ford  Company  in  France  to  meet  the 
current  demands  of  the  sections.  With  an  enlargement 
of  the  Service,  this  hand-to-mouth  policy  was  inadequate, 
and  it  was  wisely  decided  to  import  parts  from  America 
and  to  organize  a  repair  park,  which  was  not  only  to  serv^e 
as  an  overhauling  and  assembling  park  for  ambulances, 
but  also  as  a  warehouse  and  distribution  point  for  spare 
parts.  The  office  and  the  quarters  for  the  new  men  needed 
also  to  be  changed.  In  the  American  Ambulance  Hospital 
in  Neuilly,  which  up  to  this  time  had  served  as  the  Field 
Service  Headquarters,  there  was  only  space  in  a  little 
outhouse  (comprising  one  room  and  a  telephone  booth) 
for  the  office,  while  the  attic  of  the  hospital  was  the  only 

64 


INTRODUCTION 


available  dormitory  for  the  men.  It  was  hard  to  find  a 
place  which  would  be  adequate,  but  fortunately  no  hasty 
decision  was  taken  and  the  problem  was  eventually 
solved  by  the  generous  gift  of  the  spacious  house  and 
grounds  at  21  rue  Raynouard.  A  mistake  in  moving  to 
quarters  smaller  than  these  would  have  resulted  in  a 
difficult  situation  later  on. 

The  spring  and  early  summer  of  1916  brought  great 
activity  for  the  Service.  Late  in  February  Section  Two 
moved  to  the  Verdun  sector,  where  it  was  assigned  first 
of  all  to  the  service  of  evacuation  from  triage  to  TLO.E. 
This  service  is  the  hardest  test  for  a  volunteer  ambulance 
section,  for  it  means  long  runs  on  crowded  roads  without 
the  excitement  of  front  work,  still  harder  here  in  the 
Verdun  battle,  where  the  first  great  test  of  automobile 
transportation  was  forced  on  the  French.  The  faithful- 
ness with  which  this  task  was  performed  during  those 
interminable  months  proved  that,  under  difficult  cir- 
cumstances, even  long  evacuations  could  be  handled  well 
by  the  light  Field  Service  cars.  Section  Four  moved  to 
Verdun  from  the  Toul  sector  early  in  June  with  pastes 
on  the  left  bank  of  the  Meuse,  the  paste  at  Marre  being 
not  two  hundred  yards  from  the  German  lines.  Section 
Three  was  the  next  to  take  its  turn.  Ordered  from  Maxe- 
ville  on  the  20th  of  June  with  its  division,  it  arrived  near 
Verdun  at  one  of  the  most  critical  periods  of  this  long 
battle.  Its  division  was  placed  in  the  line  on  the  right 
bank  of  the  Meuse,  the  Section  serving  the  poste  at  Bras 
and  evacuating  directly  to  Verdun.  It  was  at  this  point 
that  the  Germans  nearly  broke  through,  and  the  road 
was  under  continual  bombardment,  the  village  of  Fleury, 
to  which  it  led,  being  taken  and  retaken  several  times. 
The  division  was  taken  out  after  a  week  and  the  Section 
went  on  a  well-earned  repos,  curiously  enough  to  Pont-a- 
Mousson,  the  old  home  of  Section  Two.  The  Bras  poste 
later  became  familiar  to  many  sections;  Four,  Eight, 
Nine,  Eighteen,  Sixty-Four,  and  Sixty-Nine  having  es- 
pecially difficult  evacuations  there.  Long  after  Section 

65 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Three  had  left,  Barber's  car,  smashed  by  a  shell,  still  stood 
as  a  landmark  by  the  side  of  the  road. 

Section  Eight,  formed  in  Paris  in  June,  191 6,  and  sent 
to  Champagne  for  a  week,  was  transferred  to  Verdun, 
with  its  cantonment  at  Dugny  on  the  right  bank  of  the 
Meuse,  and  its  pastes  at  the  Fort  de  Tavannes  and  the 
Cabaret  Rouge. 

Section  One  saw  two  days  of  the  bombardment  which 
ushered  in  the  battle  of  the  Somme,  and  then,  to  their 
dismay,  received  orders  to  move.  To  have  worked  for 
months  in  a  sector,  knowing  every  road,  every  position, 
not  only  of  one's  own  division,  but  of  the  enemy's,  to 
know  an  attack  was  coming,  to  prepare  for  its  every 
possible  phase,  and  then,  just  as  it  was  starting,  to  be  or- 
dered away,  was  unquestionably  bitter  medicine  for  an 
ambulance  section.  But  there  was  consolation  in  the  fact 
that  orders  were  soon  picked  up  to  go  to  Verdun,  and 
a  day  later,  Section  One  drew  up  alongside  of  Section 
Eight  at  Dugny  and  instantly  ran  into  difhcult  and  dan- 
gerous work.  Section  Eight  moved  en  repos  to  Lorraine, 
and  Section  One  soon  after  received  a  repos  only  to  go 
back  to  the  same  position  for  another  hard  period. 

The  activity  at  the  front  was  reflected  at  Headquarters. 
The  five  sections  had  made  necessarily  large  demands 
for  material  to  keep  up  their  efficiency.  New  cars  and 
parts  had  to  be  sent  out  without  delay.  It  was  at  this 
moment  also  that  heavy  repair  cars,  kitchen  trailers,  and 
trucks  could  be  issued  to  the  sections,  through  generous 
gifts,  thus  insuring  their  capacity  and  independence  as 
units.  Headquarters  activity,  however,  was  not  confined 
to  the  supplying  and  administration  of  the  sections.  The 
plans  of  the  winter  had  become  realities.  The  repair  park 
at  Billancourt  was  an  actual  fact.  A  large  building  had 
been  rented  within  Kellner's  factory,  where  the  ambu- 
lance bodies  were  constructed.  Machinery  was  installed, 
and  mechanics  were,  by  May,  at  work  repairing  and  as- 
sembling cars.  A  large  stock-room  within  the  building  with 
each  spare  part  in  its  own  numbered  bin  was  already 

66 


INTRODUCTION 


filled  with  the  first  direct  shipment  from  America.  In 
June  the  park  was  no  longer  an  experiment.  The  proof 
was  Section  Nine,  which,  one  early  morning  in  the  latter 
part  of  the  month,  received  its  cars  there  and  rolled  out 
to  Versailles  —  the  first  step  on  its  long  journey  to  Alsace. 
In  July  the  Headquarters  were  thoroughly  established 
and  adequate  offices  permitted  independence  of  action. 
Extensive  dormitories  and  a  refectory  offered  a  home, 
not  only  to  the  newly  arrived  volunteers,  but  to  permis- 
sionnaires^  and  to  those  returning  to  America.  It  was  at 
this  time  also  that  Bordeaux  and  Le  Havre  became  princi- 
pal points  in  our  sphere  of  action.  Chassis  arriving  there 
had  to  be  assembled  and  driven  overland.  A  group  of 
schoolboy  volunteers,  only  able  to  enlist  for  the  summer, 
helped  in  this  necessary  work.  Thus  it  was  possible  to 
take  advantage  of  those  wonderful  summer  days  to  lay 
the  basis  for  the  next  winter,  for  it  took  at  least  three 
months  from  the  shipment  of  a  chassis  from  America  for 
it  to  be  placed  in  commission  as  an  ambulance. 

It  was  at  the  end  of  this  year  that  we  received  the  first 
tangible  evidence  of  the  fact  that  our  Service  was  one 
that  the  French  felt  they  could  count  on  as  really  be- 
ing a  part  of  their  army  and  not  simply  an  auxiliary  serv- 
ice. In  September,  191 6,  the  French  Automobile  Service 
asked  if  we  could  send  a  section  of  our  light  cars  to  the 
Balkans,  it  being  their  opinion  that  the  evacuation  work 
in  that  difficult  region  could  be  most  efficiently  done  by 
one  of  our  sections.  The  request  addressed  to  us  to  send 
a  section  so  far  away  from  the  base  was  also  an  indica- 
tion of  the  confidence  in  which  the  personnel  of  our  Serv- 
ice was  held,  although  at  that  time  we  were  only  serving 
six  French  divisions.  It  was  a  request  which  we  felt  we 
should  meet,  primarily  because  the  men  of  our  Service 
felt  very  keenly  that  wherever  the  French  Army  must 
go,  we  should  go.  The  French  Army  had  accepted  us  and 
permitted  us  to  participate  in  the  greatest  battles :  Could 

1  The  Field  Service  volunteers  were  treated  as  French  soldiers,  receiving 
permissions  every  four  months. 

67 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 

we  refuse,  which  was  technically  easy,  to  go  to  the  Orient 
because  it  was  not  a  popular  assignment?  Section  Three 
did  not  think  so.  Their  Section  Commander,  Lovering 
Hill,  and  the  French  Lieutenant,  D6rode  (who  could 
have  refused  on  account  of  ill-health),  were  as  eager  as 
the  men,  many  of  whom  had  been  with  the  Section  since 
its  formation  eighteen  months  before. 

Twenty-four  hours  after  the  agreement  had  been 
made,  the  Section  arrived  in  Paris,  having  made  the  trip 
from  Lorraine.  Extra  cars  and  a  supply  of  spare  parts 
for  at  least  six  months  were  furnished  out  of  the  stock 
which  had  been  ordered  for  just  such  an  emergency.  Not 
many  days  later,  the  order  came  for  the  departure  of  the 
Section,  and  that  night  at  a  freight  station  in  the  out- 
skirts of  Paris  the  men  boarded  the  train  which  was  to 
take  them  and  their  material  to  Marseilles,  the  first  lap 
of  their  long  journey. 

The  departure  of  Section  Three  marked  the  inevitable 
closing  of  a  chapter  In  the  history  of  the  Service.  It  was 
a  chapter  of  intimate  association  made  possible  by  the 
throwing  together  of  less  than  200  young  men  of  the  same 
education  and  ideas  at  a  time  when  there  seemed  little 
hope  that  their  countrymen  would  take  up  the  cause  they 
had  made  their  own.  Furloughs  brought  men  from  differ- 
ent sections  together  in  the  comfortable  home  at  rue  Ray- 
nouard,  at  a  time  when,  more  than  at  any  other,  Paris 
reflected  the  attitude  of  the  soldiers  who  were  defending 
her  at  the  front.  This  close  association  and  friendship, 
afterwards,  when  the  Service  grew  to  much  larger  propor- 
tions, found  its  expression  in  the  sections. 

With  the  Service  In  France  ready  for  expansion  and  the 
French  Automobile  Service  insisting  not  only  that  our 
present  sections  must  be  maintained,  but  that  it  would 
be  of  inestimable  value  if  we  could  form  more  sections, 
it  was  vital  that  the  American  Field  Service  should  make 
every  effort  to  meet  this  demand.  Since  the  battle  of  Ver- 
dun it  had  become  evident  that  the  Automobile  Service 
of  the  army  must  be  developed ;  that  on  it  depended  the 

68 


INTRODUCTION 


quick  movement  of  troops  and  supplies  which  so  many 
times  afterwards  turned  defeat  into  victory.  For  every 
sanitary  section  that  the  American  Field  Service  could 
send  to  the  front,  an  equal  number  of  Frenchmen  w^ould 
be  released  for  other  branches  of  the  Automobile  Serv- 
ice. With  this  in  view,  Mr.  Andrew  w^ent  to  America,  and 
with  Mr.  Sleeper's  aid,  laid  the  basis  of  an  organization 
there  which  was  destined  to  furnish  substantial  results 
soon  after. 

1917 

The  year  19 17  was  destined  to  be  one  of  little  rest  for 
any  one  connected  with  the  Service.  Very  shortly  after 
Mr.  Andrew's  return,  two  demands  came  from  General 
Headquarters  which  proved  beyond  doubt  that  they 
felt  they  were  dealing  with  a  Service  which  they  could 
count  on  as  their  own.  They  asked  for  another  section 
to  go  to  the  Balkans  and  for  a  detachment  of  ambulances 
to  be  sent  to  the  Vosges  Mountains  in  Alsace.  The  first 
demand  was  complied  with  by  forming  Section  Ten, 
under  the  command  of  Henry  Suckley  w^hose  long  ex- 
perience and  capacity  fitted  him  well  for  this  task.  The 
request  for  the  Vosges  Detachment  was  a  tribute  to  the 
effective  service  of  the  t>pe  of  ambulance  modelled  by 
this  Service,  for  since  the  example  set  by  Section  Three, 
it  was  found  that  no  French  section  could  do  the  work 
of  this  difficult  region  so  well. 

The  early  winter  proved  a  very  hard  one  for  the  sec- 
tions at  the  front.  Sections  One,  Two,  and  Four  were  in 
line  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Meuse  and  in  the  Argonne, 
shifting  their  stations  once  or  twice,  but  all  taking  their 
turn  at  the  pastes  of  Esnes,  Montzeville,  Hill  272,  and 
Marre,  where  the  roads  were  always  dangerous  even 
when  there  was  no  attack,  and  always  muddy  and  difficult. 
Section  Eight  travelled  to  the  Somme  during  the  last 
part  of  the  offensive  and  then  travelled  back  to  Verdun 
on  the  Bras  run.  Section  Nine  took  its  turn  at  Bras  and 
then  went  to  Lorraine.  Section  Twelve  came  to  the  front 

69 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


in  January,  relieving  Section  One  on  the  Esnes  run,  get- 
ting there  its  full  baptism  of  fire. 

An  interesting  custom  began  this  winter  with  the  giv- 
ing of  farewell  dinners  to  the  sections  on  the  eve  of  their 
departure  for  the  front.  The  custom  had  been  inaugurated 
by  Section  Nine,  but  the  first  two  dinners  were  only  in- 
formal gatherings.  Their  tone,  however,  gave  the  idea 
of  making  them  more  formal  by  inviting  prominent 
Frenchmen  and  Americans,  who  by  their  friendly  and  in- 
spiring speeches  made  these  evenings  memorable.  What 
member  of  Section  Twelve  will  ever  forget  M.  Hugues 
Le  Roux's  story  of  his  son  who  had  gone  to  the  battle 
front  with  a  fresh  enthusiasm  such  as  theirs  and  who,  al- 
though almost  immediately  mortally  wounded,  would  not 
allow  himself  to  be  carried  back  until  after  his  wounded 
soldiers  had  been  attended  to,  thus  facing  hours  of  agony 
and  torment.  A  fitting  son  to  the  father,  who,  while 
thanking  these  volunteers  for  the  service  they  were  giving 
his  country,  taught  us  all  that  great  lesson  of  patriotism 
which  was  making  France  supreme.  Each  dinner  had  its 
special  charm,  but  whether  the  speaker  was  American  or 
French,  soldier  or  civilian,  the  theme  of  service  and  re- 
spect for  the  country  we  were  serving  was  always  pre- 
dominant. After  the  United  States  entered  the  war,  we 
heard  our  Ambassador,  at  last  able  to  speak  as  he  felt; 
and  at  the  same  dinner,  M.  Jules  Cambon,  and  later. 
Captain  (now  General)  Churchill.  At  other  dinners  we 
heard  inspiring  addresses  by  Captain  Puaux,  who  had 
been  on  General  Joffre's  stafT;  Lieutenant  Rend  Puaux, 
who  had  served  on  the  staff  of  General  Foch;  repre- 
sentatives of  the  French  G.H.Q.;  Mr.  Frank  Simonds, 
Mr.  Will  Irwin,  President  John  H.  Finley,  Abbe  Dimnet, 
and  many  others.  Surely  all  honor  was  being  paid  to 
the  men  as  they  left  for  their  place  at  the  front. 

In  the  early  spring  six  more  ambulance  sections  were 
placed  at  the  disposal  of  the  French  armies;  Section 
Thirteen,  which  went  to  Champagne  and  took  part  in  the 
great  April  French  offensive;  Section  Fourteen,  to  Lor- 

70 


Boxed  chassis  waiting  to  be  assembled 


l'iei»arati(>xi»  lor  the  departure  ol  a  section.  Section  Fifteen 
almost  ready  to  leave  for  the  front 


THE  GARDEN  AT  21  RUE  RAYNOUARD 


INTRODUCTION 


raine;  Section  Fifteen  to  Verdun,  its  first  car  being  hit  by 
shrapnel  near  the  poste  at  Esnes  less  than  fifty-four 
hours  after  leaving  Paris;  Section  Sixteen,  to  the  Argonne, 
where  it  stayed  for  nine  months ;  and  Sections  Seventeen 
and  Eighteen,  to  the  Second  Army  Reserv^e. 

The  declaration  of  war  by  the  United  States  brought 
grave  decisions  for  those  who  were  responsible  for  the 
Service.  The  physical  fact  which  stood  out  on  April  4, 
191 7,  was  that  here  in  France  was  a  volunteer  American 
organization  growing  in  size  and,  as  it  grew,  filling  much- 
needed  vacancies  in  the  non-combatant  branch  of  the 
Automobile  Ser\4ce  of  the  French  Army.  When  on  April 
5,  Mr.  Andrew  telephoned  to  Commandant  Doumenc, 
the.  Head  of  the  Automobile  Service,  and  asked  him  in 
what  way  the  American  Field  Service,  now  that  America 
had  come  into  the  war,  could  help  the  French  Army 
best,  the  answer  came  back  immediately  over  the  tele- 
phone requesting  seven  thousand  drivers  for  camiofis  as 
soon  as  possible  under  the  same  conditions  as  governed 
the  functioning  of  the  ambulance  sections  of  the  Field 
Service.  There  was  one  indisputable  lesson  the  three 
years  of  war  had  taught,  and  that  was,  that  nothing  less 
than  the  greatest  effort  in  whatever  capacity  was  worth 
while.  Could  the  American  Field  Ser\dce,  whose  record 
had  always  been  to  try  and  meet  to  its  fullest  capacity 
whatever  demands  had  been  made  on  it,  refuse  now  to 
make  every  attempt  to  further  its  capacity  in  a  branch 
of  service  for  which  it  was  especially  fitted?  It  would 
have  been  easy  to  have  confined  our  efforts  to  ambulance 
sections,  the  field  in  which  the  Service  had  been  working, 
but  its  growth  would  have  been  restricted  to  four  sections  a 
month,  restrictions  due  to  the  average  amount  of  gifts  be- 
ing received  at  this  time,  due  to  delay  in  transportation, 
due  to  lack  of  facilities  for  building  bodies,  the  only  avail- 
able builders  having  diverted  most  of  their  energies  to  aero- 
plane construction.  By  extending  its  functions,  the  Service 
could  be  of  greater  immediate  aid  to  the  French  Army, 
at  the  same  time  keeping  up  its  output  of  ambulance  sec- 

71" 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


tions,  and  this  at  a  time  when  there  was  no  indication  as 
to  whether  the  United  States  would  send  an  expedition- 
ary force,  and  even  if  so,  how  large  a  one.  The  decision 
was  taken  and  a  cable  was  sent  to  America  explaining 
that  volunteers  were  needed  for  this  new  Service,  and 
that  hereafter  the  two  branches  of  Service  would  be  con- 
sidered as  one,  volunteers  being  assignable  wherever  they 
could  be  of  most  use.  The  effects  of  the  urgent  request 
for  men  from  America  soon  began  to  bear  results.  Volun- 
teers began  to  stream  over  in  May  and  June,  as  many  as 
five  hundred  arriving  within  three  days.  To  cope  with 
this  influx,  barracks  and  tents  were  erected  in  the  gar- 
den at  rue  Raynouard,  and  a  house  near  by  was  put  at 
our  disposal  by  the  same  generous  friends  to  whom  we 
owed  rue  Raynouard.  Three  camps  were  established  for 
the  training  of  these  men,  their  large  numbers  making 
Paris  now  an  impossible  centre  for  this  purpose.  The 
ambulance  camp  was  established  at  M  ay-en- Multien, 
a  picturesque  farm  belonging  to  a  friend  of  the  Serv^ice, 
on  the  road  between  Meaux  and  Soissons,  and  the  trans- 
port camps  near  Dommiers  and  Longpont,  a  few  kilometres 
south  of  Soissons.  Volunteers  only  remained  in  Paris  for 
such  time  as  was  needed  to  obtain  uniforms  and  necessary 
papers,  being  then  sent  out  to  the  respective  camps. 

The  first  unit  to  go  to  the  transport  camp  was  a  Cor- 
nell unit  which  volunteered  to  take  up  this  new  work. 
It  was  followed  by  a  Dartmouth  unit;  then  by  Califor- 
nia, Princeton,  Marietta,  and  Tufts  units.  Dartmouth, 
Princeton,  Harv^ard,  and  Yale  units  were  also  sent  to  the 
ambulance  camp,  and  every  effort  was  made  to  form 
them  into  sections  according  to  their  units. 

Another  development  of  this  period  was  the  opening 
of  the  French  Ofiicers'  Automobile  School  at  Meaux  to 
members  of  the  American  Field  Service,  a  privilege  ex- 
tended only  to  Field  Service  men.  This  action  was  taken 
primarily  to  train  our  men  so  that  they  would  be  capable 
of  commanding  transport  sections,  but  it  was  also  in- 
tended to  give  the  American  officers  of  the  ambulance 

72 


INTRODUCTION 


sections  sufficient  technical  knowledge  to  enable  them 
ultimately  to  handle  their  sections  without  a  French  of- 
ficer. It  was  stated  at  French  headquarters  that  with 
the  part  the  American  Field  Service  was  now  playing,  it 
was  essential  that  their  American  commanders  should  be 
familiar  with  all  the  details  of  the  French  Automobile 
Service.  The  first  class  was  more  in  the  nature  of  an 
experiment,  and  so  only  fifteen  men  were  admitted,  but 
the  later  classes  were  each  opened  to  forty  of  our  men. 

Now  came  the  period  which  saw  the  Service  at  the 
height  of  its  development,  namely,  the  spring  and  summer 
of  191 7.  During  these  months  the  sections  and  individ- 
uals did  work  of  which  they  will  always  be  proud.  Let  us 
take  the  ambulance  sections  first.  Section  One  had  moved 
to  the  Aisne,  just  west  of  Reims,  in  a  sector  which,  al- 
though quiet,  cost  them  two  comrades.  Nineteen-sixteen 
history,  however,  repeated  itself,  and  again  they  came  to 
Verdun  during  a  great  battle,  being  once  more  stationed 
at  their  old  poste  on  the  right  side  of  the  Meuse.  It  was  a 
privilege  this  time  to  place  their  cantonment  where  for- 
merly they  had  only  dared  go  to  advanced  pastes  at  night, 
but  their  work  was  even  more  difficult  and  more  danger- 
ous in  this  second  great  battle  of  Verdun  and  they  well 
merited  their  Army  Citation.  Section  Two,  which  had 
been  in  the  Fourth  Army  Reserve,  also  came  back  to  its 
old  poste  at  Esnes  and  Hill  272,  and  later  at  Marre,  also 
its  most  trying  period.  Section  Four  was  in  Champagne 
during  the  French  attack  of  Mont  Cornillet  with  Section 
Thirteen  as  its  neighbor,  the  latter  also  winning  an  Army 
Citation.  Section  Four  then  moved  to  Verdun,  running 
now  past  Bras,  on  to  Vacherauville.  Section  Eight  re- 
mained at  Sainte-Menehould.  Section  Fourteen  came 
from  Lorraine  for  the  attack  in  Champagne,  then  was 
sent  on  repos.  Section  Fifteen  worked  in  the  Verdun  and 
Argonne  sectors,  its  Commander,  Earl  Osborn,'  being 
wounded  as  he  was  taking  over  a  new  poste.  Section 
Sixteen  remained  in  the  Argonne  until  relieved  by  Sec- 
tion Thirty-Three ;  its  poste  was  to  the  left  of  the  attack- 

73 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


ing  line,  but  in  the  midst  of  batteries,  which  made  it 
one  of  the  worst  sectors  for  an  ambulance  section.  Sec- 
tion Seventeen  at  first  evacuated  to  the  rear,  but  later 
took  over  advanced  pastes  to  the  right  of  Section  Six- 
teen. Section  Eighteen  got  its  chance  for  a  week  on  the 
Verdun-Bras-Vacherauville  road.  Section  Nineteen  was 
in  the  Argonne  to  the  left  of  Section  Sixteen.  Section 
Twenty-Six  was  in  the  Saint-Mihiel  sector,  a  quiet  one, 
but  earned  a  citation  during  an  enemy  air  raid.  Sections 
Twenty-Seven  and  Twenty-Eight  were  in  Champagne, 
the  latter  having  the  trying  and  dangerous  sector  where 
Osborn  was  killed  and  two  men  wounded  during  their 
first  week  of  work.  Section  Twenty- Nine  replaced  Section 
Two  on  the  Montzeville-Esnes  run,  the  nature  of  the 
work  being  evidenced  by  the  loss  of  Newlin  and  the 
wounding  of  their  Chef,  Julian  Allen.  Section  Thirty  did 
evacuation  work  at  Dugny,  where  its  men  learned  Boche 
methods  when  aviators  bombed  and  mitrailleused  the 
hospital  to  which  they  were  attached.  Sections  Thirty- 
One  and  Thirty-Two  were  both  in  the  battle  before  they 
were  taken  over  by  the  United  States  Army,  the  former 
on  the  left  bank  of  the  Meuse  and  the  latter  on  the  right 
bank.  Section  Sixty-Four  at  first  did  evacuation  work,  but 
it,  and  Section  Sixty-Nine,  took  their  turn  later  on  the 
Verdun-Bras  road.  Sections  Sixty- Five  and  Sixty-Six  were 
at  the  Chemin  des  Dames,  working  at  posies  side  by  side 
and  made  an  enviable  record  in  that  active  sector.  Bent- 
ley,  Hamilton, and  Gailey  gave  their  lives  in  this  sector. 
Sections  Sixty-Seven  and  Seventy  were  on  the  Aisne  dur- 
ing the  strenuous  summer  activity  there  which  finally 
culminated  in  the  battle  of  Malmaison,  and  Section  Sixty- 
Eight  did  evacuation  work  in  Champagne.  Sections  Sev- 
enty-One and  Seventy-Two  were  to  the  west  in  Picardy 
in  sectors  which  looked  out  on  Saint-Quentin. 

Finally  far  away  on  the  Balkan  front  Section  Three  was 
back  in  the  Monastir  sector,  after  having  been  chosen  on 
account  of  its  adaptability  to  the  mountainous  transport 
conditions  to  follow  a  French  division  into  Greece,  and 

74 


INTRODUCTION 


Section  Ten  was  following  an  Allied  advance  in  the  wilder- 
ness of  Albania. 

The  transport  sections,  formed  in  groups  in  the  Re- 
serve Mallet,  were  busy  carrying  ammunition  and  supplies 
in  preparation  for  the  Chemin  des  Dames  offensive.  The 
work  of  these  eight  hundred  men,  although  confined  to 
one  area,  brought  them  to  all  the  battery  emplacements 
in  this  region,  not  only  difficult  runs,  but  dangerous  as 
well. 

The  last  months  of  19 17  marked  the  transition  period 
when  both  branches  of  the  Service  were  transferred  to 
the  United  States  Army.  The  organization  of  the  United 
States  Army  did  not  permit  of  an  automobile  service,  so 
the  decision  was  made  that  the  Reserve  Mallet  would  be 
taken  over  by  the  Quartermaster  Corps  and  the.  Ambu- 
lance Service  would  be  taken  over  by  the  United  States 
Army  Ambulance  Service  with  the  French  Army,  a  spe- 
cial bill  having  been  passed  by  Congress  to  make  possi- 
ble this  new  arrangement. 

There  were  many  volunteers  who,  through  previous 
experience  or  through  desire,  wished  to  enlist  or  obtain 
commissions  in  the  other  branches  of  the  American  Army. 
On  the  other  hand,  they  had  contracted  engagements  as 
volunteers  in  the  French  Army  for  six  months.  It  was  a 
difficult  situation  for  all  concerned,  because  the  French 
Army  was  dependent  on  the  Service  to  its  full  capacity, 
especially  at  a  time  when  hard  fighting  was  going  on  all 
along  the  line.  Until  the  regular  army  replacements 
could  reach  France  in  substitution  for  the  volunteers  who 
did  not  wish  to  enlist  in  the  two  army  branches  with 
which  they  were  serving  at  the  time,  the  French  Army 
could  not  release  them  from  their  contracts.  As  it  proved 
this  delay  did  not  impair  the  chances  of  these  men.  The 
other  services  were  not  yet  ready  to  train  them  and  the 
long  list  of  commissions  in  every  branch  of  the  United 
States  Army  received  by  American  Field  Service  volun- 
teers indicates  that  there  was  little  loss  in  opportunity 
due  to  the  fulfilment  of  their  pledge. 

75 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


The  Spirit  of  the  Service 

The  enrolment  of  the  American  Field  Service  by  the 
United  States  Army  terminated  the  history  of  the  Serv- 
ice. The  record  of  the  organization  depended  very  much 
on  the  spirit  of  service  shown  by  the  early  volunteers  of 
1 9 14  and  191 5.  Their  example  and  understanding  became 
the  standard  which  was  passed  on,  not  only  in  the  old 
sections,  but  in  the  new  ones,  a  standard  which  formed 
a  discipline  worthy  of  the  Army  to  which  they  were  at- 
tached. The  names  of  all  these  volunteers  are  in  the 
roster,  but  it  seems  fitting  to  recall  a  few  of  them  whose 
personality  and  influence  helped  especially  to  shape  the 
Service:  Lovering  Hill,  who  arrived  in  France  in  1914, 
and,  beginning  with  the  pioneer  days,  was  given  com- 
mand of  Section  Three  in  June,  191 5,  then  after  eighteen 
months  on  the  western  front,  took  his  section  to  the  Bal- 
kans for  another  year,  his  four  personal  citations  prov- 
ing the  example  he  set;  Herbert  Townsend,  whose  leader- 
ship of  Section  One  installed  a  standard  which  won  for 
that  section  four  citations;  Henry  Suckley,  who,  after 
long  service  as  Sous- Chef  of  Section  Three,  took  Section 
Ten  to  the  Balkans,  giving  his  life  there  in  the  Sen/ice 
in  which,  as  a  leader,  he  had  set  an  example  of  devo- 
tion to  the  cause  he  knew  to  be  right;  Robert  Moss,  in 
charge  of  the  repair  and  construction  park  from  its  in- 
ception until  the  Service  was  taken  into  the  Army;  John 
R.  Fisher,  who  so  successfully  commanded  the  Ambulance 
Training-Camp  at  M ay-en- Multien;  Alan  H.  Muhr,  Con- 
troller from  1915  to  1917  and  subsequently  leader  of 
Section  Fourteen;  John  H.  IMacFadden,  Treasurer,  who 
so  successfully  aided  in  the  collection  of  funds  in  America; 
Philip  K.  Potter,  who  represented  the  Field  Ser\'ice  in 
command  of  the  Reserve  Mallet ;  and  William  de  Ford 
Bigelow  and  A.  D.  Dodge,  with  their  records  of  long 
service  as  leaders  of  Sections  Four  and  Eight,  respec- 
tively, and  subsequently  their  earnest  labors  and  assist- 
ance as  aides  in  the  Paris  headquarters. 

76 


FIELD   SERVICE   QUARTERS   AND  DEPOTS   IN   PASSY   AND   BILLANCOURT 


INTRODUCTION 


This  chapter  deals  only  with  the  part  the  American 
Field  Service  played  as  a  part  of  the  armies  of  France. 
The  record  of  wounded  and  supplies  carried  by  the  two 
Services  and  the  two  hundred  and  fifty  decorations  con- 
ferred by  the  divisions  served,  indicates  the  character 
of  work  rendered.  The  recognition  by  the  United  States 
Army  of  the  two  Services  for  which  special  provision  had 
to  be  made,  a  recognition  which  was  made  at  the  request 
of  the  French  Army,  proved  conclusively  how  vital  was 
the  continuation  of  this  aid  to  the  French  Army.  To  judge 
further  of  its  importance,  one  has  only  to  see  the  part 
the  Service  was  playing  in  the  two  great  battles  that 
were  being  fought  on  the  western  front  at  the  time  it  was 
taken  over  by  the  United  States  Army. 

From  July  until  October,  191 7,  the  Reserve  Mallet  had 
transported  ammunition,  engineering  supplies,  thousands 
upon  thousands  of  shells  day  and  night  in  preparation 
for  the  Chemin  des  Dames  attack.  The  outstanding 
feature  of  this  attack  was  the  complete  destruction  by  the 
artillery  of  all  the  strong  positions  of  the  enemy,  which 
resulted  in  the  infantry  attack  being  such  a  brilliant  one, 
with  few  losses.  It  was  the  fourteen  Field  Service  sections 
of  volunteer  camion  drivers  serving  with  the  Reserve  Mal- 
let, with  their  French  comrades,  who  transported  from 
the  railheads  to  the  batteries  practically  all  the  ammu- 
nition. Recognition  of  this  fact  is  seen  in  Commandant 
Doumenc's  report  to  2^1  r.  Andrew  in  which,  referring  to 
the  Transport  Service,  he  says:  "  C'est  elle  qui  a  assure  la 
plus  grosse  part  des  transports  de  munitions,  an  moment 
des  attaques  heureuses  qui  porter ent  la  6^  Armee  sur  V 
Ailetter 

In  the  Verdun  offensive  in  which  the  French  regained 
in  a  few  days  all  the  territory  which  they  had  lost  to  the 
Germans  in  the  great  battle  of  191 6,  American  Field 
Service  sections  attached  to  divisions  evacuated  the 
wounded  in  practically  every  sector  of  the  Verdun  front 
from  Sainte-Menehould  through  the  Argonne  on  both 
sides  of  the  Meuse,  and  as  far  as  the  Saint- Mihiel  sector. 

77 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Sections  One,  Two,  Four,  Thirteen,  Fifteen,  Sixteen, 
Seventeen,  Eighteen,  Nineteen,  Twenty-Six,  Thirty, 
Thirty-One,  Thirty-Two,  Sixty-Four,  and  Sixty-Nine 
took  part  at  one  time  or  another.  The  effectiveness  of 
their  service  gained  for  them  a  place  in  the  headlines 
of  the  Intransigeant,  the  popular  evening  newspaper  of 
Paris,  where  in  referring  to  the  progress  of  the  battle 
it  was  stated:  '' Et  surtout  les  ambulances  americaines 
ont  marches  d  merveille.'' 

Stephen  Galatti^ 


*  Served  continuously  in  France  from  September,  1915,  until  May,  1919; 
member  of  Section  Three  in  1915;  Assistant  Head  of  the  American  Field 
Service  from  January,  1916;  Commissioned  Captain  in  the  U.S.A.  Ambu- 
lance Service  in  October,  191 7,  and  later  promoted  to  Major. 


<^-^ 


The  Ambulance  Sections 


Section  One 

THE  STORY  TOLD  BY 

I.  Henry  Sydnor  Harrison 
n.  Joshua  G.  B.  Campbell 
HI.  Tracy  Jackson  Putnam 
IV.  Robert  Whitney  Imbrie 
V.  Roy  H.  Stockwell 
VI.  John  H.  McFadden,  Jr. 
VII.  William  Yorke  Stevenson 
VIII.  Edward  A.  G.  W^^lie 


SUMMARY 

Section  One  left  Paris  for  Dunkirk  on  January  20,  191 5.  The 
latter  part  of  March  it  was  moved  to  Malo-les-Bains.  From 
there  it  went  on  April  6  to  Wormhoudt,  to  be  ordered  back 
later  to  Dunkirk.  On  April  22  it  went  to  Woesten  near  Ypres. 
Later  half  the  Section  went  to  Elverdinghe. 

In  June  ten  ambulances  were  at  Dunkirk  and  the  remainder 
of  the  Section  was  transferred  to  Coxyde,  Belgium,  the  pastes 
being  situated  at  Nieuport  and  Nieuport-Bains.  On  July  20 
the  entire  Section  was  sent  to  Crombeke  in  Flanders. 

On  December  22  of  the  same  year  the  Section  moved  near 
Beauvais,  en  repos.  In  January,  191 6,  it  moved  to  Jaulzy,  in 
February  to  Cortieux,  and  then  to  Mericourt-sur-Somme. 
From  here  it  was  suddenly  ordered,  on  June  22,  191 6,  to  Bar-le- 
Duc,  behind  the  Verdun  front,  going  from  there  to  Dugny, 
where  it  arrived  June  28.  On  July  13  it  went  en  repos  at  Tan- 
nois,  Givry-en-Argonne,  Triaucourt,  and  Vaubecourt,  all  in 
the  Argonne  region.  On  the  15th  of  August  it  moved  to  Chateau 
Billemont.  On  September  11  it  spent  three  days  en  repos  at 
Triaucourt,  and  then  moved  to  La  Grange-aux-Bois,  between 
the  Argonne  and  Verdun  sectors. 

On  January  19,  1917,  the  Section  again  went  to  Triaucourt 
en  repos,  following  which  it  moved  to  Ippecourt.  January  25 
found  it  at  Dombasle-en-Argonne,  and  the  14th  of  March  at 
Vadelaincourt  in  the  Verdun  sector,  en  repos.  On  April  17  it 
moved  to  Muizon,  ten  kilometres  west  of  Reims,  and  on 
June  21  to  Louvois.  It  spent  a  repos,  beginning  July  23,  at 
Evres.  August  saw  it  at  Houdainville  and  later  at  the  Caserne 
Beveaux.  On  September  14  it  moved  to  a  peaceful  little  village 
in  the  Jeanne  d'Arc  country,  where  it  ended  its  career  as  a 
part  of  the  Field  Service,  becoming  thereafter  Section  Six- 
Twenty-Five  of  the  U.S.  Army  Ambulance  Service,  with  the 
French  Army. 


Section  One 


Mon  corps  a  la  terre, 
Mon  ame  a  Dieu, 
Mon  coeur  a  la  France. 


I 

Dunkirk  and  Ypres 

In  June,  1915,  it  was  the  pride  of  the  Section  in  Flanders, 
Section  One,  to  feel  that  it  had  come  closer  to  war  than 
any  other  formation  of  the  American  Ambulance.  In 
June,  19 1 6,  when  these  lines  were  written,  the  point  of 
pride  was  to  know  that  those  first  intense  experiences 
had  long  since  been  duplicated  and  eclipsed. 

In  Dunkirk  we  witnessed,  and  within  our  powers  tried 
to  cope  with,  what  yet  remains,  I  believe,  one  of  the  most 
sensational  artillery  exploits  in  history.  It  is  remembered 
that  the  little  cars  of  the  Americans  often  ran  those  empty 
streets,  and  pursued  those  deafening  detonations,  alone. 
At  our  base,  Dunkirk,  we  shared  the  life  of  a  town  un- 
der sporadic,  but  devastating,  bombardment;  forward,  in 
Elverdinghe,  we  shared  the  life  of  a  town  under  perpetual, 
and  also  devastating,  bombardment;  still  farther  forward, 
in  Ypres,  we  beheld  a  town  bombarded  from  the  face  of 
the  earth  in  a  single  night.  There  we  shared  no  life,  nor 
yet  in  Nieuport,  for  there  was  none  to  share.  In  the  salient 
around  Ypres  we  played  for  many  days  our  small  part 
in  that  vast  and  various  activity  forever  going  on  at  the 

81 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 

back  of  the  front.  There  we  saw  and  learned  things  not 
easily  to  be  forgotten;  the  diverse  noises  of  shells  going 
and  coming,  of  arrivees  and  departs;  the  stupendous  up- 
roar of  the  ''duel''  before  the  charge,  which  makes  the 
deepening  quiet  of  a  run  back  come  like  a  balm  and  a 
blessing;  the  strange  informality  of  roadside  batteries, 
booming  away  in  the  sight  of  peasant  families  and  every 
passer;  the  silence  and  the  stillness,  and  the  tenseness  and 
the  business,  of  night  along  the  lines;  the  extreme  diffi- 
culty of  hiding  from  shrapnel  successfully  without  a  dug- 
out; the  equal  difficulty  of  driving  successfully  down  a 
shell-bitten  road  in  darkness  like  ink;  the  glow  against 
the  sky  of  a  burning  town,  and  the  bright  steady  dots  of 
starlight  around  half  the  horizon;  the  constant  straggle 
of  the  evicted  by  the  field  ambulance's  front  door,  and  the 
fast-growing  cemetery  at  the  back  door;  the  whine  and 
patter  of  bullets  by  the  postes  de  secours  and  the  business- 
like ripple  of  the  machine  guns;  the  whir  of  Taubes,  the 
practical  impossibility  of  hitting  them  from  the  ground, 
and  the  funny  little  bombs  sometimes  dropped  by  the 
same;  the  noises  made  by  men  gone  mad  with  pain;  the 
glorious  quiet  of  men  under  the  acetylene  lamps  of  the 
operating- table ;  "crowd  psychology,"  and  why  a  regi- 
ment becomes  a  "fighting  machine,"  and  how  tender 
hearts  are  indurated  with  a  toughening  of  the  skin;  the 
high  prevalence  of  courage  among  the  sons  of  men ;  draw- 
backs of  sleeping  on  a  stretcher  in  an  ambulance ;  the  un- 
kemptness  of  Boche  prisoners;  life,  death,  and  war,  and 
the  values  and  meanings  thereof. 

Such  things,  as  I  know,  passed  into  the  experience  of 
Section  One,  in  Flanders.  And  these  things,  and  more, 
have  similarly  passed  into  the  experience  of  scores  of 
young  Americans  since,  in  their  life  and  service  behind 
the  lines  of  France. 

It  is  the  composite  experience  which  the  following 
pages  narrate;  it  is  the  composite  service  which  the  mind 
holds  to  with  most  satisfaction.  We  were  the  Service  Sani- 
taire  Americaine;  a  proud  title,  and  we  wished,  naturally, 

82 


SECTION  ONE 


to  invest  it  with  the  realest  meaning.  That  the  American 
service  was  rendered  efficiently  and  even  valuably,  this 
History  as  a  whole  attests,  I  think.  That  it  was  rendered 
with  the  requisite  indifference  to  personal  risk  is  also,  I 
hope,  supported  by  the  record.  A  transient  in  the  service, 
who  by  no  means  bore  the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day, 
may  be  permitted,  I  trust,  to  say  these  necessary,  or  at 
least  these  interesting  and  pertinent  things  with  com- 
plete detachment. 

I  remember  the  hour  of  Section  One's  "baptism  of 
fire."  We  stood  in  the  lee  (or  what  we  hoped  was  the  lee) 
of  the  Petit  Chateau  at  Elverdinghe,  while  German  shells 
whistled  over  our  heads  and  burst  with  a  wicked  crash 
about  the  little  church,  the  typical  target,  a  couple  of 
hundred  yards  away.  (What  interest  we  felt  when  a  frag- 
ment of  shell,  smoking  hot,  fell  almost  at  our  feet,  and 
what  envy  of  the  man  who  gathered  in  this  first  memora- 
ble '' souvenir'' \)  We  were  just  down  from  Dunkirk;  we 
were  greener  than  the  grass  that  blew ;  and  that  the  novel 
proceedings  were  acutely  interesting  to  us  all  will  never 
be  denied.  Perhaps  each  of  us  secretly  wondered  to  him- 
self if  he  was  going  to  be  afraid ;  certainly  all  of  us  must 
have  wished,  with  some  anxiousness,  that  those  strange 
whistles  and  roars  would  turn  themselves  another  way. 
And  still,  when  the  young  Englishman  who  ran  the  am- 
bulance service  there  appeared  at  that  moment  and  asked 
for  two  cars  to  go  down  the  road  to  Brielen  (which  was  to 
go  straight  toward  the  trouble),  it  is  pleasant  to  remem- 
ber that  there  was  no  lack  of  volunteers,  and  two  of  my 
companions  were  cranking  up  at  once.  There  was  never 
any  time  later,  I  am  sure,  when  the  sense  of  personal  dan- 
ger was  so  vivid  in  the  minds  of  so  many  of  us  together. 

Bad  Quarters  of  an  Hour 

Every  ambulance-driver  must  have  his  bad  quarters  of 
an  hour,  no  doubt  —  and  some  of  the  worst  of  them  may 
concern  not  himself  at  all,  but  his  car  or  his  wounded. 
And  if  it  is  said  that  these  young  Americans,  amateurs 

83 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


and  volunteers,  have  acquitted  themselves  well  in  some- 
times trying  circumstances,  there  is  no  intention  to  over- 
emphasize this  aspect  of  their  service.  A  volume  might 
be  written  on  the  developmental  reactions  —  all  but 
mathematical  in  their  working  —  of  war-time.  Nor  does 
it  seem  necessary  to  add  that  the  risk  of  the  amhulanciers , 
at  the  worst,  is  small  in  comparison  with  that  of  those 
whom  they  serve  and  from  whom  in  turn  they  get  their 
inspiration,  —  the  intrepid  youths  in  the  trenches. 

We  came  to  know  these  youths  very  well  —  the  gallant 
and  charming  poiliis  who  have  so  long  carried  the  West- 
ern Front  upon  their  shoulders.  We  sincerely  admired 
them;  and  on  them  largely  we  formed  our  opinions  of 
France,  and  of  the  war  generally,  and  of  war. 

From  the  standpoint  of  observation,  indeed,  —  and 
doubtless  it  is  observation  one  should  try  to  record  here, 
—  I  believe  we  all  felt  the  peculiar  advantage  of  our  posi- 
tion to  have  been  this,  that  we  mingled  with  the  soldiers 
on  something  like  equal  terms.  We  were  not  officers;  we 
were  not  distinguished  visitors  dashing  up  in  a  staff  car 
for  an  hour  of  sight-seeing.  We  were  rankers  (so  far  as 
we  were  anything),  and  we  were  permanent;  and  in  the 
necessities  of  our  work,  we  touched  the  life  of  the  common 
fighting  man  at  every  hour  of  the  day  and  night,  and 
under  almost  every  conceivable  circumstance.  W^e  were 
with  the  poilus  in  the  hour  of  rout  and  disaster;  we  were 
with  them  in  the  flush  of  a  victorious  charge  brilliantly 
executed.  We  crawled  along  roads  blocked  for  miles  with 
them,  moving  forward ;  we  wormed  into  railroad  stations 
swamped  with  the  tide  of  their  wounded.  Now  we  heard 
their  boyish  fun,  and  shared  their  jokes  in  the  fine  free 
days  off  duty ;  and  now  we  heard  from  the  unseen  well  of 
the  jolting  car,  their  faint  entreaty,  ''Doucement!  Doiice- 
mentr'  We  saw  them  distressed  by  the  loss  of  their  pre- 
cious sacs,  or  elated  by  the  gift  of  a  button  or  a  cheese ; 
we  saw  them  again  in  silence  and  the  darkness  beside  the 
Yser,  very  quiet  and  busy,  with  the  ping  and  whine  of 
many  rifles;  and  again  we  found  them  lying  on  straw  in 

84 


SECTION  ONE 

dim-lit  stables,  bloody  and  silent,  but  not  defeated.  Now 
they  gave  us  tobacco  and  souvenirs,  and  told  us  of  their 
gosseSj  and  helped  us  tinker  with  our  cars,  about  which 
some  of  them,  mechanicians  in  happier  days,  knew  so 
much  more  than  we  did ;  and  now  they  died  in  our  am- 
bulances, and  sometimes  went  mad.  We  saw  them  gay, 
and  we  saw  them  gassed ;  we  found  them  idling  or  writing 
letters  on  the  running-boards  of  our  cars,  and  we  found 
the  dark  stains  of  their  fading  lives  upon  our  stretchers; 
we  passed  them  stealing  up  like  stalwart  ghosts  to  action, 
and  we  left  them  lying  in  long  brown  rows  beside  the  old 
roads  of  Flanders. 

The  Dominant  Note  of  the  Poilu 

AxD  to  me  at  least  it  seemed  that  the  dominant  note  and 
characteristic  quality  of  the  poilu,  and  all  his  intense  ac- 
tivity, was  just  a  disciplined  matter-of-factness,  a  calm, 
fine,  business-like  efficiency,  an  utter  absence  of  all  hero- 
ics. Of  his  heroism,  it  is  superfluous  to  speak  now.  My 
observ-ation  convinced  me  indeed,  that  fortitude  is  every- 
where more  common  and  evident,  not  less,  than  even 
rhapsodical  writers  have  represented.  There  seems  liter- 
ally no  limit  to  the  powers  of  endurance  of  the  human 
animal,  once  he  is  put  to  it.  Many  writers  have  written  of 
the  awful  groanings  of  the  wounded.  I  m.ust  say  that, 
though  I  have  seen  thousands  of  wounded,  the  groans  I 
have  heard  could  almost  be  counted  upon  the  fingers  of 
my  hand.  Only  once  in  my  experience  do  I  remember 
seeing  any  signs  of  excitement  or  disorder.  That  was 
in  the  roads  around  Poperinghe,  in  the  first  threatening 
hours  of  the  second  battle  of  Ypres.  Once  only  did  I  get 
any  impression  of  human  terror.  And  that  was  only  a 
reminiscence,  left  behind  by  women  and  children  in  the 
tumbled  empty  houses  of  Ypres.  But  in  all  the  heroism, 
unlimited  and  omnipresent,  there  is  observed,  as  I  say, 
little  or  no  heroics.  That  entire  absence  of  drum  and  fife, 
which  strikes  and  arrests  all  beholders  at  the  front,  is 
significant  and  symbolic.  These  men  muster  and  move 

85 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


forward  to  the  risk  of  death  almost  as  other  men  take  the 
subway  and  go  dow^ntown  to  business.  There  are  no  fan- 
fares at  all,  no  grand  gestures,  no  flourishes  about  the 
soul  and  **Za  gloirey 

It  is  true,  no  doubt,  that  the  ambulance-driver  views 
the  scene  from  a  somewhat  specialized  angle.  His  princi- 
pal association  is  with  the  sequelae  of  war;  his  view  is  too 
much  the  hospital  view.  Yet,  it  must  be  insisted,  he  be- 
comes quickly  and  strangely  callous  on  these  points;  and 
on  the  whole  would  be  less  likely  to  overstress  the  mere 
horrors  than  some  one  who  had  not  seen  so  much  of  them. 
On  the  other  hand,  as  I  have  suggested,  he  has  extraor- 
dinary opportunities  for  viewing  war  as  a  thing  at  once  of 
many  parts  and  of  a  marvellously  organized  unity. 

A  Fateful  Day  at  Poperinghe 

Personally  I  think  that  my  sharpest  impression  of  war 
as  a  whole  came  to  me,  not  along  the  pastes  de  secours  or 
under  the  guns  at  all,  but  at  the  station  place,  in  the  once 
obscure  little  town  of  Poperinghe,  on  April  23,  191 5. 

That,  it  will  be  remembered,  was  a  fateful  day.  At  five 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon  before  (everybody  was  perfectly 
specific  about  the  hour),  there  had  begun  the  great  move- 
ment now  known  as  the  Second  Battle  of  Ypres  (or  of  the 
Yser).  The  assault  had  begun  with  the  terrifying  surprise 
of  poison-gas ;  the  gas  was  followed  by  artillery  attacks  of 
a  ferocity  hitherto  unequalled;  Ypres  had  been  wiped  out 
in  a  few  hours;  the  Germans  had  crossed  the  Yser.  Thus 
the  French  and  English  lines,  which  were  joined,  had 
been  abruptly  pushed  back  over  a  long  front.  That  these 
were  anxious  hours  for  the  Allies,  Sir  John  French's  report 
of  June  15,  1915,  indicates  very  plainly,  I  think.  But  they 
were  far  from  being  idle  hours.  To-day  the  whole  back 
country,  which  for  weeks  had  swarmed  with  soldiers,  was 
up.  For  miles  around.  Allied  reserves  had  been  called  up 
from  camp  or  billet;  and  now  they  were  rushing  forward 
to  stiffen  the  wavering  lines  and  stem  the  threatening 
thrust  for  the  coast. 

86 


SECTION  ONE 


At  three  o'clock  on  this  afternoon,  I  stood  in  the  rue 
d'Ypres,  before  the  railway  station  in  Poperinghe,  and 
watched  the  new  army  of  England  go  up.  Thousands  and 
thousands,  foot  and  horse,  supply  and  artillery,  gun, 
caisson,  wagon,  and  lorry,  the  English  were  going  up.  All 
afternoon  long,  in  an  unending  stream,  they  tramped  and 
rolled  up  the  Flemish  highroad,  and  wheeling  just  before 
me,  dipped  and  disappeared  down  a  side  street  toward 
"out  there."  Beautifully  equipped  and  physically  attrac- 
tive —  the  useless  cavalry  especially!  —  sun-tanned  and 
confident,  all  ready,  I  am  sure,  to  die  without  a  whimper, 
they  were  a  most  likely  and  impressive-looking  lot.  And  I 
suppose  that  they  could  have  had  little  more  idea  of  what 
they  were  going  into  than  you  and  I  have  of  the  geogra- 
phy  of  the  nether  regions. 

This  was  on  my  left  —  the  English  going  up.  And  on 
my  right,  the  two  streams  actually  touching  and  mingling, 
the  English  were  coming  back.  They  did  not  come  as  they 
went,  however.  They  came  on  their  backs,  very  still  and 
remote;  and  all  that  you  were  likely  to  see  of  them  now 
was  their  muddy  boots  at  the  ambulance  flap. 

Service  Sanitaire  as  we  were,  I  think  Section  One  never 
saw,  before  or  since,  such  a  conglomeration  of  wounded 
as  we  saw  that  day  at  Poperinghe.  Here  was  the  railhead 
and  the  base;  here  for  the  moment  were  the  Red  Cross 
and  Royal  Army  Medical  Corps  units  shelled  out  of 
Ypres ;  here  was  the  nervous  centre  of  all  that  swarming 
and  sweating  back-of-the-front.  And  here,  hour  after 
hour,  into  and  through  the  night,  the  slow-moving  w^ag- 
ons,  English,  French,  and  American,  rolling  on  one  an- 
other's heels,  brought  back  the  bloody  harvest. 

The  English,  so  returning  to  Poperinghe  gare,  were 
very  well  cared  for.  By  the  station  wicket  a  large  squad  of 
English  stretcher-bearers,  directed,  I  believe,  by  a  colonel 
of  the  line,  was  unceasingly  and  expertly  busy.  Behind 
the  wicket  lay  the  waiting  English  train,  steam  up  for 
Boulogne,  enormously  long  and  perfectly  sumptuous;  a 
super- train,  a  hospital  Pullman,  all  swinging  white  beds 

87 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


and  shining  nickel.  The  French,  alas,  were  less  lucky 
that  day.  Doubtless  the  unimagined  flood  of  wounded 
had  swamped  the  generally  excellent  service;  for  the  mo- 
ment, at  least,  there  was  not  only  no  super-train  for  the 
French,  there  was  no  train.  As  for  the  bunks  of  the  sta- 
tion warehouses,  the  hopital  d'evacuation,  they  were,  of 
course,  long  since  exhausted.  Thus  it  was  that  wounded 
tirailleurs  and  Zouaves  and  black  men  from  Africa  set 
down  from  ambulances,  staggered  unattended  up  the 
station  platform,  sat  and  lay  anyhow  about  the  concrete 
and  the  sand  —  no  flesh-wounded  hoppers  these,  but 
hard-punished  men,  not  a  few  of  them  struck,  it  was  only 
too  manifest,  in  the  seat  of  their  lives.  This  was  a  bloody 
disarray  which  I  never  saw  elsewhere,  and  hope  never  to 
see  again.  Here,  indeed,  there  was  moaning  to  be  heard, 
with  the  hard  gasp  and  hopeless  coughing  of  the  as- 
phyxies. And  still,  behind  this  heavy  ambulance,  rolled 
another  and  another  and  another. 

On  my  left  was  the  cannon  fodder  going  up;  on  my 
right  was  the  cannon  fodder  coming  back.  The  whole  me- 
chanics of  war  at  a  stroke,  you  might  have  said ;  these  two 
streams  being  really  one,  these  men  the  same  men,  only 
at  slightly  different  stages  of  their  experience.  But  there 
was  still  another  detail  in  the  picture  we  saw  that  day, 
more  human  than  the  organized  machine,  perhaps,  and 
it  seemed  even  more  pathetic. 

The  Flotsam  of  War 

Behind  me  as  I  stood  and  watched  the  mingling  stream 
of  soldiers,  the  little  square  was  black  with  refitgies.  Far- 
ther back,  in  the  station  yard,  a  second  long  train  stood 
steaming  beside  the  hospital  train,  a  train  for  the  home- 
less and  the  waifs  of  war.  And  presently  the  gate  opened, 
and  these  crowds,  old  men  and  women  and  children, 
pushed  through  to  embark  on  their  unknown  voyage. 

These  were  persons  who  but  yesterday  possessed  a  lo- 
cal habitation  and  a  name,  a  background,  old  ties  and 
associations,  community  organization,  a  life.  Abruptly 


SECTION  ONE 


severed  from  all  this,  violently  hacked  off  at  the  roots, 
they  were  to-day  floating  units  in  a  nameless  class,  droves 
of  a  ticket  and  number,  refugies.  I  walked  up  the  plat- 
form beside  their  crowded  train.  A  little  group  still  lin- 
gered outside  —  a  boy,  a  weazened  old  man,  and  three 
or  four  black-clad  women,  simple  peasants,  with  their 
household  goods  in  a  tablecloth  —  waiting  there,  it  may 
be,  for  the  sight  of  a  familiar  face,  missed  since  last  night. 
I  asked  the  women  where  they  came  from.  They  said  from 
Boesinghe,  which  the  Germans  had  all  but  entered  the 
night  before.  Their  homes,  then,  were  in  Boesinghe?  Oh, 
no ;  their  homes,  their  real  homes,  were  in  a  little  village 
some  twenty  kilometres  back.  And  then  they  fixed  them- 
selves permanently  in  my  memory  by  saying,  quite 
simply,  that  they  had  been  driven  from  their  homes  by 
the  coming  of  the  Germans  in  October,  19 14;  and  they 
had  then  come  to  settle  with  relatives  in  Boesinghe, 
which  had  seemed  safe  —  until  last  night.  Twice  expelled 
and  severed  at  the  roots  —  where  were  they  going  now? 
I  asked  the  question,  and  one  of  the  women  made  a  lit- 
tle gesture  with  her  arms,  and  answered  stoically,  ''To 
France,"  which  was,  as  I  consider,  the  brave  way  of  say- 
ing, God  knows.  As  the  case  seemed  sad  to  me,  I  tried  to 
say  something  to  that  effect;  and,  getting  no  answer  to 
my  commonplaces,  I  glanced  up,  and  all  the  women's 
eyes  had  suddenly  filled  with  tears. 

And  outside  the  English  were  still  going  up  with  a  fine 
tramp  and  rumble,  nice  young  clerks  from  Manches- 
ter and  greengrocers'  assistants  from  Tottenham  Court 
Road. 

I  have  never  forgotten  that  the  very  last  soldier  I  car- 
ried in  my  ambulance  (on  June  23,  19 15)  was  one  whose 
throat,  while  he  slept,  had  been  quietly  cut  by  a  flying 
sliver  of  a  shell  thrown  from  a  gun  twenty-two  miles 
away.  But  it  will  not  do,  I  am  aware,  to  over-emphasize 
the  purely  mechanical  side  of  modern  war,  the  deadly 
impersonality  which  often  seems  to  characterize  it,  the 

89 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 

terrible  meaninglessness  of  its  deaths  at  times.  Ours,  as 
I  have  said,  was  too  much  the  hospital  view.  That  the 
personal  equation  survives  everywhere,  and  the  personal 
dedication,  it  is  quite  superfluous  to  say.  Individual  exal- 
tation, fear  and  the  victory  over  fear,  conscious  consecra- 
tion to  an  idea  and  ideal,  all  the  subtle  promptings  and 
stark  behavior  by  which  the  common  man  chooses  and 
avows  that  there  are  ways  of  dying  which  transcend  all 
life,  —  this,  we  know,  must  have  been  the  experience  of 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  the  young  soldiers  of  France. 
And  all  this,  beyond  doubt,  will  one  day  be  duly  recorded, 
in  tales  to  stir  the  blood  and  set  the  heart  afire. 

Henry  Sydnor  Harrison  ^ 

June,  1 916 


^  The  novelist;  Columbia,  '00;  a  member  of  the  Field  Service  from  March 
to  July,  1915. 


II 

The  Year  in  Flanders 

Old  Section  One  had  at  least  one  distinguishing  charac- 
teristic. It  was  the  first  section  of  substantial  proportions 
to  be  geographically  separated  from  the  American  Am- 
bulance at  Neuilly  and  turned  over  to  the  French  Army. 
Until  it  left  for  the  front,  American  automobiles  had 
worked  either  to  and  from  Neuilly  Hospital,  as  an  evac- 
uating base,  or,  if  temporarily  detached  for  service  else- 
where, they  had  gone  out  in  small  units. 

The  Section's  story  began  in  the  cold,  wet  days  of  early 
January,  19 15,  when  twenty  men  with  twelve  cars  left 
Paris  for  the  north.  En  route  we  spent  our  first  night  in  the 
shadow  of  the  Beauvais  cathedral,  passing  the  following 
day  through  many  towns  filled  with  French  troops,  and 
then,  as  we  crossed  into  the  British  sector,  traversed  vil- 
lages abounding  with  the  khaki-clad  soldiers  of  England 
and  her  colonies  and  the  turbaned  troops  of  British  India. 
The  second  night  we  stayed  at  Saint-Omer,  the  men  sleep- 
ing in  their  cars  in  the  centre  of  the  town  square;  and  the 
third  morning,  passing  out  of  the  British  sector  once  more 
into  the  French  lines,  we  arrived  in  Dunkirk  where  our 
work  began. 

We  were  at  once  assigned  to  duty.  Every  school,  bar- 
rack and  other  large  building  —  even  the  public  theatre  — 
in  the  town,  or  in  the  neighboring  towns  within  ten  miles 
of  Dunkirk,  seemed  to  have  been  turned  into  a  hospital. 
The  cars  were  parked  in  the  railroad  yard  near  the  sta- 
tion where  a  big  freight  shed  was  fitted  up  as  receiving- 
post.  The  drivers  on  active  duty  were  quartered  in  a  small 
lean-to  in  the  station  yard,  which  lean-to  was  furnished 
with  straw-covered  bunks,  a  table,  and  a  stove.  It  was 
the  principal  loafing-place  for  the  young  Americans,  and 
being  an  ill-smelling  place,  soon  acquired  the  name  of 

91 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


"Monkey  House."  The  men  secured  their  meals  in  a  near- 
by cafe,  remembered  chiefly  for  its  dirty,  dingy  interior. 

The  blesses  arriving  at  Dunkirk  by  hospital  trains  from 
Belgian  villages,  a  few  miles  away,  were  unloaded  in  this 
freight-shed  and  then  carried  to  the  twenty-five  or  more 
hospitals  in  the  city  and  in  the  towns  roundabout. 

Our  first  incident  of  an  exciting  nature  came  on  the  sec- 
ond day.  We  were  nearly  all  at  the  station,  quietly  waiting 
for  the  next  train,  when  high  up  in  the  air  there  appeared 
first  one,  then  three,  and  finally  seven  graceful  aero- 
planes. We  watched,  fascinated,  and  were  the  more  so 
when  a  moment  later  we  learned  that  they  were  Taubes.  It 
seemed  hard  to  realize  that  we  were  to  witness  one  of  the 
famous  raids  that  have  made  Dunkirk  even  more  famous 
than  the  raider  Jean  Bart  himself  had  ever  done.  Explo- 
sions were  heard  on  all  sides  and  the  sky  w^as  soon  spotted 
with  puffs  of  white  smoke  from  the  shells  fired  at  the  in- 
truders. The  rattle  of  the  mitrailleuses  and  the  bang  of 
the  "  75's"  became  a  background  of  sound  for  the  more 
solemn  boom  of  the  shells.  A  few  moments  later  there  was 
a  bang  not  thirty  yards  away  and  we  w^ere  showered  with 
bits  of  stone.  We  stood  spellbound  until  the  danger  was 
over  and  then  foolishly  jumped  behind  our  cars  for  pro- 
tection. 

When  Bombing  was  Young 

This  incident  of  our  early  days  was  soon  thrown  into 
unimportance  by  other  raids,  each  more  interesting  than 
the  last.  One  of  them  stands  out  in  memory  above  all  the 
rest.  It  occurred  on  a  perfect  moonlight  night,  quite  cloud- 
less. Four  of  my  companions  and  I  were  on  night  duty  in 
the  railway  yard;  about  eleven  the  excitement  started; 
and  to  say  that  it  commenced  with  a  bang  is  not  slang 
but  the  truth.  Rather  it  commenced  with  many  bangs. 
The  sight  was  superb  and  the  excitement  intense.  One 
could  hear  the  w^hirr  of  the  motors,  and  when  they  pre- 
sented a  certain  angle  to  the  moon,  the  machines  showed 
up  like  enormous  silver  flies.  One  had  a  delicious  feeling 

92 


DUNKIRK,  1915.   EFFECT  OF   ONE  SHELL   FROM   THIRTY   MILES   AWAY 


SECTION  ONE 


of  danger,  and  to  stand  there  and  hear  the  roar  of  the 
artillery,  the  buzzing  of  the  aeroplanes,  the  swish  of  the 
bombs  as  they  fell  and  the  crash  as  they  exploded  made 
an  unforgettable  experience.  One  could  plainly  hear  the 
bombs  during  their  flight,  for  each  had  a  propeller  at- 
tached which  prevented  its  too  rapid  descent,  thus  in- 
suring its  not  entering  so  far  into  the  ground  as  to  explode 
harmlessly.  To  hear  them  coming  and  to  wonder  if  it 
would  be  your  turn  to  be  hit  next  was  an  experience  new 
to  us  all.  The  bombardment  continued  for  perhaps  an 
hour  and  then  our  work  began.  I  was  sent  down  to  the 
quay  and  brought  back  two  wounded  men  and  one  who 
had  been  killed,  and  all  my  companions  had  about  the 
same  experience.  One  took  a  man  from  a  half-demolished 
house;  another,  an  old  woman  who  had  been  killed  in  her 
bed;  and  still  another  three  men,  badly  mutilated,  who 
had  been  peacefully  walking  along  the  street.  An  hour 
later  all  was  quiet  —  except  perhaps  the  nerves  of  some 
of  our  men. 

About  this  time  our  work  was  enlivened  by  the  appear- 
ance of  the  one  and  only  real  ambulance  war  dog,  the 
official  mascot  of  the  squad,  and  my  personal  dog  at  that! 
I  was  very  jealous  on  that  point  and  rarely  let  him  ride 
on  another  machine.  I  got  him  at  Zuydcoote.  I  found  him 
playing  about,  and  as  he  appeared  to  be  astra}^  and  was 
very  friendly,  I  allowed  him  to  get  on  the  seat  and  stay 
there.  But  I  had  to  answer  so  many  questions  about  him 
that  it  became  a  bore,  and  finally  I  prepared  a  speech  to 
suit  all  occasions;  so  when  any  one  approached  me  and 
took  up  the  dog  question,  I  used  to  say,  ''  Non,  Madame, 
il  11  est  pas  americain,  il  est  frangais.  Je  Vai  trouve  id 
dans  le  Nord.''  One  day  a  rosy-cheeked  young  lady  came 
up  and  called  the  dog  "Dickie";  whereupon  I  started 
my  speech:  ''//  ne  s'appelle  pas  Dickie,  Mademoiselle, 
mais  Khaki,  et,  votis  savez,  il  est  frangais.''  ''Je  le  sais 
bien.  Monsieur,  parce  qiCil  est  a  moi."  I  felt  sorry  and 
chagrined,  but  not  for  long,  as  a  moment  later  the  lady 
presented  him  to  me. 

93 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


The  Drive  for  Calais 

We  will  skip  over  the  humdrum  life  of  the  next  weeks  to 
a  night  in  April  when  we  were  suddenly  ordered  to  the 
station  at  about  i  a.m.  It  was,  I  think,  April  22.  "The 
Germans  have  crossed  the  Yser"  was  the  news  that  sent 
a  thrill  through  all  of  us.  Would  they  this  time  reach 
Calais  or  would  they  be  pushed  back?  We  had  no  time  to 
linger  and  wonder.  All  night  long  we  worked  unloading 
the  trains  that  followed  each  other  without  pause.  The 
Germans  had  used  a  new  and  infernal  method  of  warfare; 
they  had  released  a  cloud  of  poisonous  gas  which,  with 
a  favorable  wind,  had  drifted  down  and  completely  en- 
veloped the  Allied  trenches.  The  tales  of  this  first  gas  at- 
tack were  varied  and  fantastic,  but  all  agreed  on  the  sur- 
prise and  horror  of  it.  Trains  rolled  in  filled  with  huddled 
figures,  some  dying,  some  more  lightly  touched,  but  even 
these  coughed  so  that  they  were  unable  to  speak  cohe- 
rently. All  told  the  same  story,  of  having  become  suddenly 
aware  of  a  strange  odor,  and  then  of  smothering  and  chok- 
ing and  falling  like  flies.  In  the  midst  of  all  this  had  come 
a  hail  of  shrapnel.  The  men  were  broken  as  I  have  never  ' 
seen  men  broken.  In  the  months  of  our  work  we  had  be- 
come so  accustomed  to  dreadful  sights  and  to  suffering 
as  to  be  little  affected  by  them.  The  sides  and  floors  of 
our  cars  had  often  been  bathed  in  blood  and  our  ears  had 
not  infrequently  been  stirred  by  the  groans  of  men  in 
agony,  but  these  sufferers  from  the  new  form  of  attack 
awakened  in  all  of  us  feelings  of  pity  beyond  any  that  we 
had  ever  felt  before.  To  see  these  big  men  bent  double, 
convulsed  and  choking  was  heart-breaking  and  hate-in- 
spiring. 

At  ten  o'clock  we  were  ordered  to  Poperinghe,  about 
twenty  miles  from  Dunkirk  and  three  miles  from  Ypres, 
where  a  great  battle  was  just  getting  under  way.  The 
town  was  filled  with  refugees  from  Ypres,  which  was  in 
flames  and  uninhabitable.  Through  Poperinghe  and  be- 
yond it  we  slowly  wound  our  way  in  the  midst  of  a  solid 

94 


SECTION  ONE 


stream  of  motor  trucks  filled  with  dust-covered  soldiers 
coming  up  to  take  their  heroic  part  in  stemming  the  Ger- 
man tide.  We  were  to  make  our  headquarters  for  the  time 
at  Elverdinghe ;  but  as  we  approached  our  destination  the 
road  was  being  shelled  and  we  put  on  our  best  speed  to 
get  through  the  danger  zone.  This  destination  turned  out 
to  be  a  small  chateau  in  Elverdinghe,  where  a  first-aid 
hospital  had  been  established,  and  where,  all  around  us, 
batteries  of  French  and  English  guns  were  thundering 
their  aid  to  the  men  in  the  trenches  some  two  miles  away. 
In  front  of  us  and  beside  us  were  the  famous  *'  75's,"  and 
"i20's,"  and  farther  back  the  great  English  marine  guns, 
whose  big  shells  we  could  hear  every  few  seconds  pass- 
ing over  us. 

Before  we  reached  the  chateau,  an  automobile  had  just 
been  put  out  of  commission  by  a  shell;  so  we  had  to 
change  our  route  and  go  up  another  road.  The  chateau 
presented  a  terrible  scene.  In  every  room  straw  and  beds 
and  stretchers,  with  mangled  men  every\vhere.  \^^e 
started  to  work  and  for  twenty-six  hours  there  was 
scarcely  time  for  pause.  Our  labor  consisted  in  going 
down  to  the  pastes  de  secours,  situated  in  the  Flemish 
farmhouses,  perhaps  four  hundred  or  five  hundred  yards 
from  the  trenches,  where  the  wounded  get  their  first-aid 
attention,  and  then  in  carrying  the  men  back  to  the  dress- 
ing stations  where  their  wounds  were  more  carefully  at- 
tended to,  and  finally  in  taking  them  farther  to  the  reai 
to  the  hospitals  outside  of  shell  range.  The  roads  were  bad 
and  we  had  to  pass  a  constant  line  of  convoys.  At  night 
no  lights  were  allowed  and  we  had  to  be  especially  careful 
not  to  jolt  our  passengers.  But  the  best  of  drivers  cannot 
help  bumping  on  the  pavements  of  Belgium,  and  when, 
during  an  hour  or  more,  each  cobble  brings  forth  a  groan 
from  the  poor  fellows  inside,  it  is  hard  to  bear,  especially 
as  they  are  often  out  of  their  heads,  when  they  call  for 
their  mothers,  order  the  charge  or  to  cease  firing,  see 
visions  of  beautiful  fields  or  of  cool  water,  and  sometimes 
die  before  the  trip  is  over. 

95 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Anxious  Days 

The  following  morning  we  decided  to  stay  in  Eherdinghe 
and  tr\'  to  get  a  little  sleep;  but  no  sooner  had  we  turned 
in  than  we  were  awakened  by  the  order  to  get  out  of  the 
chateau  at  once,  as  we  were  under  tire,  \\hile  I  was  put- 
ting on  m\-  shoes,  the  ^^-indow  fell  in  and  part  of  the  ceiling 
came  down.  Then  we  were  instructed  to  e^'acuate  the 
place  of  all  its  wounded  and  we  were  kept  bus>-  for  hours 
getting  them  to  a  place  of  safety.  In  the  meantime  shells 
were  falling  all  about  us.  One  great  tree  in  front  of  me 
was  cut  completely  off  and  an  auto  near  it  was  riddled 
with  the  fragments.  For  two  weeks  this  battle  lasted,  and 
we  watched  our  little  village  gradually  disintegrating 
under  the  German  shells.  Our  cars  were  niany  tinies  more 
or  less  under  hea\y  artiller\-  and  rifle  tire  and  few  of  them 
escaped  without  shrapnel  holes. 

To  most  of  the  pastes  we  could  go  onh-  after  dark,  as 
they  were  in  sight  of  the  CTcrman  lines.  Once  we  did  go 
during  the  day  to  a  postc  along  the  banks  of  the  Yser 
Canal :  but  it  was  too  dangerous  and  the  General  ordered 
such  trips  stopped.  These  few  trips  were  splendid,  how- 
ever, for  to  see  the  men  in  the  trenches  and  hear  the 
screech  of  the  shells  at  the  ver\-  front  was  thrilling  indeed. 
At  times  a  rifle  bullet  would  tind  its  way  over  the  bank 
and  flatten  itself  against  a  near-by  farmhouse.  One  was 
safer  at  night,  of  course,  but  the  roads  were  so  full  of 
viarmite  holes  and  fallen  trees  that  they  were  hard  to 
dr'we  along.  \A'e  could  tind  our  way  only  by  carefully 
avoiding  the  dark  spots  on  the  road.  There  was  not  a  man 
among  us,  however,  who  did  not  feel  a  hundred  tim.es  re- 
paid for  the  danger  and  anxiety  he  had  gone  through 
when  he  realized  the  delay  and  suffering  he  had  saved  the 
wounded.  Had  we  not  been  there  with  our  little  cars, 
the  wounded  would  have  been  brought  back  on  hand- 
stretchers  or  in  wagons  far  less  comfortable  and  much 
slower. 

The  advantage  of  our  little  cars  over  the  bigger  and 

96 


SECTION  ONE 


heavier  ambulances  was  demonstrated  many  times.  On 
narrow  roads,  with  a  ditch  on  each  side,  choked  with 
troops,  ammunition  wagons,  and  vehicles  of  all  sorts 
moving  in  both  directions,  horses  sometimes  rearing  in 
terror  at  exploding  shells,  at  night  in  the  pitch  dark,  ex- 
cept for  the  weird  light  from  the  illuminating  rockets,  the 
little  cars  would  squeeze  through  somehow.  If  sometimes 
a  wheel  or  two  would  fall  into  a  shell  hole,  four  or  five 
willing  soldiers  were  enough  to  lift  the  car  out  and  send 
it  on  its  way  undamaged.  If  a  serious  collision  occurred, 
two  hours'  work  sufhced  to  repair  it.  Always  "on  the 
job, "  always  efftcient,  the  little  car,  the  subject  of  a  thou- 
sand jokes,  gained  the  admiration  of  every  one. 

The  Great  Bombardment  of  Dunkirk 

Finally  the  second  battle  of  the  Yser  was  over,  and  the 
front  settled  down  again  to  the  comparative  quiet  of 
trench  warfare.  ]\  lean  while  some  of  us  were  beginning  to 
feel  the  strain  and  were  ordered  back  to  Dunkirk  for  a 
rest,  which  we  reached  in  time  to  witness  one  of  the  most 
exciting  episodes  of  the  war.  It  was  just  at  this  time  that 
the  Germans  "sprang"  another  surprise,  —  the  bom- 
bardment of  Dunkirk  from  guns  more  than  twenty  miles 
away.  Shells  that  would  obliterate  a  w^hole  house  or  make 
a  hole  in  the  ground  thirty  feet  across  would  fall  and  ex- 
plode without  even  a  warning  whistle  such  as  ordinary 
shells  make  when  approaching.  At  about  9.30  in  the  morn- 
ing we  were  in  the  railway  station  working  on  our  cars 
when,  out  of  a  clear,  beautiful  sky,  the  first  shell  fell.  We 
thought  it  was  from  an  aeroplane,  as  Dunkirk  seem.ed  far 
from  the  range  of  other  guns.  The  dog  seem.ed  to  know 
better,  for  he  jumped  off  the  seat  of  my  car  and  cam.e 
whining  under  me.  A  few  minutes  later  came  a  second  and 
then  a  third  shell.  Still  not  knowing  from  where  they  came, 
we  got  out  our  machines  and  went  to  where  the  clouds  of 
smoke  gave  evidence  that  they  had  fallen.  I  had  supposed 
that  by  this  time  I  had  become  something  of  a  veteran ; 
but  when  I  went  into  the  first  dismantled  house  and  saw 

97 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


what  it  looked  like  inside,  the  street  seemed  to  me  by  far 
a  safer  place,  for  the  building  was  one  mass  of  torn  tim- 
bers, earth  and  debris.  Even  people  in  the  cellar  had  been 
wounded. 

We  worked  all  that  day,  moving  from  place  to  place 
in  the  town,  sometimes  almost  smothered  by  dust  and 
plaster  from  the  explosion  of  shells  in  our  vicinity.  We 
cruised  slowly  around  the  streets  waiting  for  the  shells  to 
come  and  then  went  to  see  if  any  one  had  been  hit.  Some- 
times when  houses  were  demolished,  we  found  every  one 
safe  in  the  cellars,  but  there  were  many  hurt,  of  course, 
and  quite  a  number  of  killed.  The  first  day  I  carried  three 
dead  and  ten  terribly  wounded  soldiers,  civilians,  and 
women  too.  In  one  of  the  earliest  bombardments  a  shell 
fell  in  the  midst  of  a  funeral,  destroying  almost  every- 
vestige  of  the  hearse  and  body  and  all  of  the  mourners. 
Another  day  one  of  them  hit  a  group  of  children  at  play 
in  front  of  the  billet  where  at  one  time  we  lodged,  and 
one  never  knew  how  many  children  had  been  killed,  so 
complete  was  their  annihilation. 

For  a  time  every  one  believed  the  shells  had  been  fired 
from  marine  guns  at  sea,  but  later  it  was  found  that 
they  came  from  heavy  land  guns,  twenty  or  more  miles 
away ;  and  as  these  bombardments  were  repeated  in  suc- 
ceeding weeks,  measures  were  taken  to  safeguard  the 
public  from  them.  Although  the  shells  weighed  nearly  a 
ton,  their  passage  through  the  air  took  almost  a  minute 
and  a  half,  and  their  arrival  in  later  days  was  announced 
by  telephone  from  the  French  trenches  as  soon  as  the  ex- 
plosion on  their  departure  had  been  heard.  At  Dunkirk  a 
siren  was  blown  on  the  summit  of  a  central  tower,  giving 
people  at  least  a  minute  in  which  to  seek  shelter  in  their 
cellars  before  the  shell  arrived.  \A'hene\-er  we  heard  the 
siren,  our  duty  was  to  run  into  the  city  and  search  for 
the  injured,  and  during  the  succeeding  weeks  many 
severely  wounded  were  carried  in  our  ambulances,  in- 
cluding women  and  children,  so  frequently  the  victims 
of  German  methods  of  warfare.  The  American  Ambulance 

98 


SECTION  ONE 


cars  were  the  only  cars  on  duty  during  these  differ- 
ent bombardments  and  the  leader  of  the  Section  was 
a\varded  the  Croix  de  Guerre  for  the  services  which  they 
performed. 

Quieter  Times 

In  the  summer  a  quieter  period  set  in.  Sunny  weather 
made  life  agreeable  and  in  their  greater  leisure  our  men 
were  able  to  enjoy  sea-bathing  and  walks  along  the  sand 
dunes.  We  kept  up  a  regular  ambulance  ser^dce  in  Dun- 
kirk and  the  surrounding  towns,  but  part  of  the  Section 
was  moved  to  Coxyde,  a  small  village  in  the  midst  of  the 
dunes  near  the  sea,  between  the  ruined  city  of  Nieu- 
port  and  La  Panne,  the  residence  of  the  Belgian  King 
and  Queen,  where  we  worked  for  seven  weeks,  among  the 
Zouaves  and  the  Fusiliers  Marins,  famous  the  world 
over  as  the  "heroes  of  the  Yser." 

Then  once  more  we  were  moved  to  the  district  farther 
south  known  as  Old  Flanders,  where  our  headquarters 
were  in  a  Flemish  farm  adjacent  to  the  town  of  Crombeke. 
The  landscape  thereabout  is  fiat  as  a  billiard-table,  only 
a  slight  rise  now  and  again  breaking  the  view.  Our  work 
consisted  in  bringing  back  wounded  from  the  vicinity  of 
the  Yser  Canal,  which  then  marked  the  line  of  the  enemy 
trenches;  but  owing  to  the  flatness  of  the  country  we 
had  to  work  chiefly  at  night.  Canals  dotted  with  slow- 
moving  barges  were  everywhere,  and  as  our  work  was 
often  a  cross-country  affair,  looking  for  bridges  added  to 
the  length  of  our  runs.  Here  we  stayed  from  August  to  the 
middle  of  December,  191 5,  during  which  we  did  the  am- 
bulance work  for  the  entire  French  front  between  the 
English  and  the  Belgian  sectors. 

Winter  —  and  a  Move 

Just  as  another  winter  was  setting  in  and  we  were  once 
more  beginning  to  get  hordes  of  cases  of  frozen  feet,  we 
were  ordered  to  move  again,  this  time  to  another  sector. 
The  day  before  we  left,  Colonel  Morier  visited  the  Sec- 

99 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


tion  and,  in  the  name  of  the  Army,  thanked  the  men  in 
glowing  terms,  not  only  for  the  work  which  they  had 
done,  but  for  the  way  in  which  they  had  done  it.  He  re- 
called the  great  days  of  the  second  battle  of  the  Yser  and 
the  Dunkirk  bombardments  and  our  part  therein;  how 
he  had  always  felt  sure  that  he  could  depend  upon  our 
men  and  how  they  had  always  been  ready  for  any  service 
however  arduous  or  dull  or  dangerous  it  might  be.  He 
expressed  officially  and  personally  his  regret  at  our  de- 
parture. We  left  on  a  day  that  was  typical  and  remi- 
niscent of  hundreds  of  other  days  we  had  spent  in 
Flanders.  It  was  raining  when  our  convoy  began  to 
stretch  itself  out  along  the  road  and  it  drizzled  all  that 
day. 

Joshua  G.  B.  Campbell^ 


1  Of  New  York;  member  of  Section  One  from  January,  1915,  to  Decem- 
ber, 191 6;  subsequently  first  lieutenant  in  the  U.S.A.  Ambulance  Service. 


Ill 

Notes  from  a  Diary 

Dimkirk,  May  i6,  19 15 
We  started  out  in  four  Fords  from  Paris  yesterday  and 
arrived  here  at  about  4  p.m.  The  journey  was  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  I  have  e\er  taken.  The  sky  was  blue,  with 
puffy  white  clouds,  the  rolling  country  a  bright  green 
dotted  with  red  and  white  houses.  The  villages  we  passed 
through  were  almost  deserted  except  for  a  few  women 
and  children.  Once  we  came  across  a  lot  of  men  working  in 
a  field;  but  they  were  digging  trenches,  not  ploughing. 
The  children  would  shout  "  Vivent  les  Anglais!''  as  we 
passed,  and  once  an  old  woman  tossed  me  a  bunch  of 
lilacs. 

Malo-les-Bains,  May  20 
We  are  billeted,  twenty  of  us,  in  a  tiny  villa  here,  just 
outside  the  city  and  right  on  the  beach.  We  draw  rations 
from  the  French  Army  and  a  red-haired  Flemish  girl 
cooks  them  for  us.  Work  is  rather  slack  just  now.  Occa- 
sionally a  train  full  of  wounded  comes  in  and  we  take 
them  out  to  the  hospitals  in  the  vicinity.  Some  German 
blesses  arrived  yesterday,  all  that  were  left  of  four  com- 
panies. Poor  devils!  How  melancholy  they  looked.  An 
officer  among  them,  though  shot  through  the  shoulder, 
was  still  full  of  nerve  and  kept  his  head  up ;  but  the  others 
were  too  miserable. 

There  is  another  squad  of  us  at  Poperinghe,  near  the 
firing  line,  and  I  shall  be  sent  there  soon. 

Saturday,  May  22 
I  WAS  "chow  orderly"  day  before  yesterday  and  spent 
all  day  setting  or  clearing  the  table  and  flirting  with  the 
cook. 

lOI 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Sunday,  May  23 
They  say  that  the  gun  Is  broken  down  and  that  is  why 
it  does  not  shoot  at  us  any  more.  But  I  doubt  it.  Took 
two  couches  from  Hondschoote  to  Zuydcoote,  really  a 
pleasant  trip,  for  the  weather,  road,  and  scenery  were 
beautiful.  I  gave  a  lift  to  a  bicyclist  who  had  been  billeted 
near  the  English.  It  is  noticeably  more  difficult  to  under- 
stand or  talk  to  French  soldiers  who  have  had  intercourse 
with  the  Tommies  because  these  men  have  acquired  the 
habit  of  saying  only  a  few  words  in  a  sentence  in  the 
hope  of  making  the  meaning  clear.  I  don't  know  whether 
the  Tommies  can  understand  such  men,  but  I  am  sure  I 
cannot.  A  motor  truck  I  saw  the  other  day  was  mottled 
in  greens,  reds,  blues,  grays,  and  browns,  so  that  it  looked 
at  a  distance  like  a  mass  of  foliage  —  camouflage,  I  sup- 
pose. 

Monday,  May  24 
I  AM  beginning  to  think  that  for  once  news  unfavorable 
to  the  Germans  is  true  and  the  big  gun  is  broken.  A  red, 
white,  and  green  flag  flew  from  the  town  hall  to-day,  for 
Italy  has  entered  the  war.  In  the  morning,  at  Malo  Ter- 
minus, I  had  a  hot  and  bitter  dispute  with  a  Turco  officer 
because  I  insisted  that  the  Ford  could  not  carry  eight. 
They  say,  though  no  one  seems  to  know  for  certain,  that 
an  aeroplane  dropped  a  bomb  here  last  night.  To-morrow 
I  leave  for  Poperinghe. 

Poperinghe,  Tuesday,  May  25 
Started  for  this  place  at  10.30  and  arrived  about  12.30. 
A  warm,  dusty  road.  Roads  partly  good  and  partly  vile. 
Most  all  of  the  Belgian  roads  are  paves,  very  much  worn 
from  heavy  motor  convoys  and  are  thick  with  dust,  too, 
which  in  wet  weather  turns  to  deep  mud.  Our  billet, 
which  I  had  some  trouble  in  finding,  is  an  old  Flemish 
farmhouse.  The  rooms  are  low-studded  and  have  beamed 
ceilings.  The  cooking  is  done  over  an  open  fire.  All  this 
is  picturesque,  but  most  of  the  men  prefer  to  sleep  in 

102 


SECTION  ONE 


their  cars  rather  than  in  the  house.  Day  and  night  one 
hears  continual  cannonading. 

Thursday f  May  27 
Very  raw  and  windy.  Sky  overcast.  I  regret  that  I  con- 
sidered overcoats  too  expensive  in  Paris.  I  think  I  will 
make  one  out  of  a  blanket.  We  went  up  to  Woesten  about 
7.30  P.M.  I  closed  up  my  ambulance  as  tightly  as  possible 
and  lighted  a  lantern  to  keep  warm,  with  fair  success. 
An  Algerian  miner  gave  us  some  coffee.  About  midnight 
some  wounded  came  in  and  in  the  shadowed  moonlight 
I  took  two  to  West  Vleteren. 

Veterans  of  Mons 

Smtday,  May  30 
I  AWOKE  this  morning  from  a  rather  chilled  sleep  to  see  a 
long  file  of  khakied  soldiers  coming  up  to  our  farm.  They 
were  the  2d  Durham  Regulars,  being  sent  to  the  upper 
end  of  the  British  sector  after  a  few  days'  rest.  Some  of 
them  had  been  fighting  since  September,  with  no  fur- 
lough. This  is  the  type  of  soldier  that  has  built  the  em- 
pire —  tough,  coarse,  rather  stupid,  well-drilled,  and  with 
beautifully  kept  rifles.  They  did  not  look  bloodthirsty  and 
most  of  them  were  married.  But  they  had  become  used 
to  killing  people  and  being  killed,  as  a  trade,  and  their 
point  of  view  seemed  rather  strange  when  the  enemy  was 
concerned.  However,  we  became  very  good  friends.  They 
were  all  lamenting  the  fact  that  most  of  their  officers  had 
been  transferred  to  the  newer  regiments  and  they  had 
been  given  amateurs.  One  of  their  lieutenants  seemed 
no  more  than  sixteen  or  seventeen.  Several  of  the  men 
confirmed  the  report  in  the  papers  of  the  Prussians  de- 
liberately firing  upon  the  Saxons  when  the  latter  tried  to 
surrender.  There  is  no  great  love  between  them.  They  say 
that  frequently  the  Saxons  would  shout  over  to  them  to 
save  their  ammunition  for  the  Prussians  and  there  would 
occasionally  be  an  exchange  of  tobacco  and  canned  stuff 
between  the  trenches.  The  French,  on  the  other  hand, 
hate  the  Saxons.  It 's  a  strange  war. 

103 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Monday,  May  31 

The  Durhams  left  about  5  o'clock.  One  poor  fellow  who 
was  on  sentry  duty  last  night,  found  our  wine  barrel  too 
attractive  and  had  to  be  taken  away  under  guard.  The 
next  time  there  is  a  dangerous  but  unimportant  job  to  be 
done  he  will  be  given  it  and  will  probably  get  shot.  After 
they  had  gone,  I  found  and  appropriated  a  raincoat  which 
one  of  them  had  left.  They  also  left  some  bully  beef  and 
biscuits  which  were  confiscated  by  the  ambulance.  In 
the  evening  we  saw  a  Zeppelin  flying  over  the  Belgian 
lines.  It  was  fired  at  but  not  hit.  Another  was  seen  at 
Dunkirk  about  the  same  time  —  probably  both  bound 
for  London. 

Tuesday,  June  i 
I  WOKE  from  a  deep  sleep  about  noon,  to  find  the  farm 
once  more  full  of  soldiers  —  this  time  the  Buffs.  They  did 
not,  however,  swarm  all  over  it  as  the  Durhams  did.  They 
lay  down  in  a  neat  column  in  the  shelter  of  the  hedge 
and  stayed  there.  But  one  or  two  non-coms  came  over  to 
talk  to  us  and  make  us  some  very  welcome  presents  of 
Bovril  and  marmalade.  One  told  us  of  finding  in  the  field 
a  wounded  German  he  had  known  in  London,  who  begged 
to  be  put  out  of  pain.  But  the  Britisher  refused  to  do  this, 
and  the  poor  fellow  died  a  few  minutes  later  on  an  Eng- 
lish stretcher. 

Wednesday,  June  2 
The  Buffs  left  in  the  afternoon.  They  were  not  so  sociable 
as  the  Durhams,  but  neater  and  better  drilled. 

Easy  Times 

Friday,  June  4 
The  irrepressible  Budd  seeing  an  old  gentleman  squint- 
ing at  an  aeroplane  through  a  very  long  telescope,  sud- 
denly cried:  ** Ne  tirez  pas,  c'est  un  frangaisT'  The  old 
man  was  very  indignant. 


104 


SECTION  ONE 


Saturday,  June  5 
I  WAS  '*  chow  "  to-day.  Except  that  one  has  to  get  up  early, 
the  job  is  a  ''cinch."  The  loaf  was  welcome.  About  6.15 
there  was  a  very  heavy  call  and  I  deserted  my  duties  and 
took  five  assis  to  Zuydcoote. 

Monday,  June  7 
Warm,  hazy  day.  The  scarlet  poppies  are  suddenly  out 
and  the  fields  are  gay  with  them.  At  midnight,  one  trip 
to  Rosendael.  As  I  was  about  to  leave,  the  pleasant  old 
janitor  ran  into  the  garden  and  came  back  with  a  little 
bunch  of  white  wild  carnations  growing  there  in  the  star- 
light. At  5.30  in  the  morning  there  was  a  false  alarm  for 
all  the  cars  to  go  to  Zuydcoote.  Stebbins  and  Ferguson 
answered  it;  but  we  found  there  were  only  six  blesses  to 
be  carried. 

Poperinghe,  June  11 
There  is  a  pretty  little  light-haired  girl  here  about  four- 
teen years  old,  who  can  run  like  a  deer,  even  in  sabots. 
She  runs  races  with  Johnson  and  Budd  and  beats  them ! 
She  does  most  of  our  work,  and  is  very  pleasant  and  in- 
telligent and  understands  a  little  English  as  well  as 
French  and  Flemish.  I  think  she  is  a  little  higher  class 
than  the  rest,  and  is,  of  course,  a  refugee. 

Saturday,  June  12 
In  the  morning  Haney  got  a  trip  to  Ypres.  He  reports 
that  there  is  not  a  single  undamaged  house  in  the  city. 

Sunday,  June  13 
In  the  afternoon,  just  after  lunch,  two  joy-riding  doctors 
strolled  over  to  the  billet  and  asked  for  some  one  to  take 
them  to  Nieuport  and  Ypres.  I  took  them.  The  doctors 
were  very  much  afraid  of  being  seen  by  some  one  from  the 
hospital,  so  they  hid  inside  the  car  until  we  were  out  of 
Poperinghe.  We  went  through  Saint-Sixte,  Oostvleteren, 
Furnes,  to  Coxyde,  one  of  our  new  pastes;  and  then  up 

105 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 

the  coast  to  Nieuport.  The  vicinity  of  the  Yser  was 
flooded.  As  we  came  near  the  city,  the  road  and  fields 
were  frequently  dotted  with  marmite  holes.  Occasionally 
wretched  farmhouses  would  also  be  seen,  and  when  we 
reached  the  city  itself  we  found  it  a  ruin.  There  is  scarcely 
a  block  that  does  not  contain  several  ruined  houses,  and 
in  the  middle  of  the  town  every  building  is  wrecked. 
Sometimes^only  the  front  door  and  the  windows  of  a  house 
are  broken  in ;  sometimes  a  corner  or  a  side  is  taken  off, 
giving  a  sort  of  diagrammatic  view  of  all  the  floors ;  some- 
times nothing  is  left  but  a  pile  of  plaster  and  bricks.  Leav- 
ing the  city  we  drove  along  the  east  bank  of  a  canal  to 
Ypres,  which  was  even  more  of  a  ruin  than  Nieuport.  It 
seems  as  if  not  a  house  were  untouched.  We  entered  a 
rather  small  church  —  Saint  Pierre,  I  think,  was  its  name. 
We  moved  cautiously  for  the  roof  had  been  blown  in. 
The  two  doctors  proceeded  to  help  themselves  to  the 
carvings  over  some  confessional  booths,  while  I  rum- 
maged around  with  the  best  of  them  and  found  a  pewter 
collection  plate,  an  old  Dutch  prayer-book  and  some 
little  waxen  images.  The  whole  proceeding  seemed  to  me 
a  trifle  unscrupulous.  But  after  all  we  were  only  robbing 
the  next  looter  and  the  value  of  the  pilfered  articles  was 
almost  purely  intrinsic.  We  got  back  to  Poperinghe  about 
half-past  six.  The  doctors  were  much  alarmed  because 
they  were  seen  by  two  of  the  men  from  the  hospital  out 
walking  in  the  town.  They  made  me  drive  up  a  back 
road  and  sneaked  home  on  foot. 

CoxYDE  —  The  Dunes  of  the  Belgian  Coast 

Coxyde,  Tuesday,  Jtme  15 
This  morning  about  10,  twelve  of  us  started  for  this  place 
where  we  arrived  in  perfect  convoy  without  accident. 
Like  Malo,  it  is  on  the  shore;  many  dunes  and  much  wind- 
driven  sand.  We  are  billeted  in  a  hay-loft,  from  which  we 
have  removed  the  hay,  and  we  eat  at  a  house  near  by. 
The  place  is  full  of  marines,  territorials  and  zouaves  — 
a  cheerful  bunch.  We  have  all  the  poste  de  secours  work 

106 


SECTION  ONE 


around  Nieuport  —  shifts  —  also  one  car  at  Oost-Dun- 
kerke.  Our  meals  are  excellent.  The  two  chief  outs  about 
the  place  are  that  it  is  obtrusively  sandy  and  is  infested 
with  dirty,  prying  children,  who  shout  the  ugliest  Flemish 
in  shrill  harsh  French  voices  —  an  ineffable  nuisance. 

Friday,  June  i8 
Went  down  to  Adinkerke  about  8.30,  where  I  met  two 
young  Belgian  chauffeurs  one  of  whom  spoke  English. 
They  were  very  cordial  and  pleasant.  A  lot  of  Belgian 
soldiers  were  there  and  I  had  my  first  opportunity  to  see 
them  near  to.  One  is  struck  by  their  youthfulness,  as  com- 
pared with  the  French  and  English,  due  partly  to  their 
being  blond  and  clean-shaven.  Some  of  the  cavalry  have 
a  most  brilliant  uniform ;  the  breeches  are  magenta  w^th 
a  yellow  stripe.  I  must  get  a  pair.  The  Belgians  are  all 
very  grateful  to  America,  but  are  afraid  that  if  we  go  into 
the  war,  their  countrymen  under  German  rule  will  starve. 

Tracy  Jackson  Putnam  ^ 

^  Of  Boston;  Harvard,  '15;  was  in  the  Field  Service  from  April,  1915,  to 
January,  1916,  serving  in  Sections  One  and  Three. 


tr^>-^ 


IV 

In  Action  —  The  Aisne 

As  you  come  along  the  Compiegne-Soissons  road,  pro- 
ceeding in  the  direction  of  Soissons,  about  midway  be- 
tween the  two  cities  you  sight  a  small  cluster  of  gray 
stone  buildings.  It  is  the  village  of  Jaulzy.  Here  it  was  we 
had  cast  anchor.  Before  reaching  the  village  you  will  have 
noticed  a  dark  round  spot  in  the  walls.  As  you  approach, 
this  resolves  itself  into  an  arch.  Passing  through  you  will 
find  yourself  in  a  muddy  stable-yard.  I  say  "muddy" 
advisedly,  for  I  firmly  believe  that  whatever  the  season 
or  whatever  the  weather  conditions  are,  or  may  have 
been,  you  will  find  that  courtyard  muddy.  Whether  the 
mud  is  fed  from  perennial  springs  or  gathers  its  moisture 
from  the  ambient  atmosphere,  I  do  not  know.  The  fact 
remains,  that  courtyard  was,  is,  and  always  will  be, 
muddy.  Facing  the  arch  on  the  farther  side  of  the  yard, 
stands  a  single-storied  building  of  one  room.  Its  inside 
dimensions  are,  perhaps,  fifty  by  twenty-five  feet.  Access 
is  had  by  a  single  door  and  three  windows  admit  a  dim 
light.  We  found  it  simply  furnished  with  a  wire-bottomed 
trough,  raised  about  three  and  a  half  feet  above  the  floor 
and  extending  about  double  that  from  the  w^alls  on  three 
sides  of  the  room.  This  left  free  floor  space  enough  to 
accommodate  a  table  of  planks  stretched  across  essence 
boxes,  flanked  on  either  side  by  two  benches  belonging 
to  the  same  school  of  design.  Such  was  our  cantonment. 
In  the  trough  twenty  of  us  slept,  side  by  side.  At  the  table 
we  messed,  wrote,  mended  tires,  played  chess,  or  lanced 
boils.  Two  of  the  windows  lacked  glass,  so  there  was 
plenty  of  cold  air;  a  condition  which  a  small  stove  did  its 
inefhcient  best  to  combat.  The  galley  was  established  in 
a  tiny  hut  on  the  left  of  the  yard  and  from  here  the  food 
was  transported  to  the  mess  by  the  two  unfortunates 

lo8 


SECTION  ONE 


who  happened  to  be  on  "chow"  duty.  Since  the  court- 
yard was  not  sufficiently  large  to  accommodate  all  the 
cars,  half  were  placed  in  another  yard  about  two  hundred 
metres  down  the  road,  where  also  was  established  the 
atelier.  At  night  a  sentry  was  posted  on  the  road  between 
these  two  points  and  ''le  mot''  w^as  a  condition  precedent 
to  passing,  a  circumstance  which  sometimes  gave  rise  to 
embarrassment  when  the  password  was  forgotten. 

At  Jaulzy 

The  village  of  Jaulzy  is  made  up  of  some  twoscore  forbid- 
ding-looking houses.  It  is  situated  on  the  south  bank  of 
the  Aisne  and  is  bisected  by  the  road  from  Compiegne 
to  Soissons.  At  this  time,  February,  191 6,  it  was,  as  the 
shell  travels,  about  four  kilometres  from  the  line.  Though 
thus  within  easy  reach  of  the  enemy's  field  artillery,  it 
showed  no  signs  of  having  been  bombarded,  and  during 
our  entire  stay  only  five  or  six  shells  were  thrown  in.  This 
immunity  was  probably  due  to  the  insignificant  size  of 
the  place  and  the  fact  that  no  troops  were  ever  quartered 
there.  Back  of  the  village  proper,  on  the  top  of  a  steep 
hill,  was  Haut  Jaulzy,  or  Upper  Jaulzy.  Here  a  large  per- 
centage of  the  houses  was  partially  demolished  —  from 
shell-fire,  one  of  the  few  remaining  inhabitants  informed 
me.  Halfway  up  the  hill,  between  Upper  and  Lower  Jaulzy, 
stands  an  ancient  stone  church.  A  line  of  reserve  trenches, 
crossing  the  hill,  traverses  the  churchyard.  Here  are 
buried  a  number  of  soldiers,  ^^mort  pour  la  patrie.''  Above 
one  grave  is  a  wooden  cross  upon  which  appears  the  in- 
scription: "To  an  unknown  English  soldier;  he  died  for 
his  father's  land."  And  this  grave  is  even  better  kept  and 
provided  with  flowers  than  the  others. 

PlERREFONDS  —  "  VeAL  CuTLETS  " 

The  region  roundabout  Jaulzy  is  surely  among  the  most 
beautiful  in  all  France.  Hills,  plateaus,  and  wooded  val- 
leys, through  which  flow  small,  clear  streams,  all  combine 
to  lend  it  natural  charm,  a  charm  of  which  even  winter 

IC9 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


cannot  rob  it.  Numerous  villages  are  everywhere  scattered 
about,  and  while  those  near  the  front  had  a  war-worn 
aspect,  in  proportion  to  their  distance  from  the  line  their 
freshness  and  attractiveness  increased.  Railhead  for  this 
sector  was  Pierre fonds,  a  pleasant  town  overshadowed  by 
the  fairylike  castle  from  which  it  takes  its  name.  It  was 
at  Pierrefonds  we  obtained  our  supply  of  essejice  and  huile. 
Off  to  the  southwest,  in  a  magnificent  forest  bearing  the 
same  name,  is  the  quaint  little  city  of  Villers-Cotterets 

—  by  the  Squad  rechristened  "Veal  Cutlets."  It  was 
here  Dumas  was  born  and  lived.  The  city  owed  its  chief 
interest  to  us,  however,  to  the  fact  that  here  was  lo- 
cated one  of  the  field  hospitals  to  which  we  transported 
wounded.  Some  twenty  kilometres  to  the  west  of  Jaulzy 
is  the  old  city  of  Compiegne,  reminiscent  of  Robert  Louis 
Stevenson,  and  here  too  were  located  evacuation  hos- 
pitals. Its  curious  town  hall,  its  venerable  houses,  and 
dark,  mysterious  shops  are  interesting,  but  our  most 
lasting  memories  of  the  city  will  be  of  its  silent,  wind- 
swept streets  through  which  we  carried  our  wounded  on 
those  dark,  icy  nights. 

The  day  began  at  6.30  a.m.  when  the  detested  alarm 
clock  went  into  action,  supplemented  by  shouts  of 
*' everybody  out"  and  sleepy  groans  of  protest.  A  quick 
shift  from  flea-bag  to  knickers  and  tunic,  and  a  promis- 
sory toilet  was  accomplished  by  7,  by  which  time,  also, 
the  two  orderlies  for  the  day  had  set  the  table  with  coffee, 
bread,  and  jam.  This  disposed  of,  the  cars  were  cranked 

—  and  a  bone-wrenching  job  this  usually  was,  the  motors 
being  so  stiff  from  the  cold  it  was  next  to  impossible  to 
"turn  them  over."  There  was  a  Squad  rule  for  "lights 
out"  at  9.30  P.M.,  but  as  there  were  always  some  indi- 
viduals who  wished  to  write  or  play  chess  or  read  after 
this  hour,  excellent  target  practice  was  nightly  furnished 
to  those  who  had  retired  in  the  trough  and  who  objected 
to  the  continued  illumination.  Thus  I  have  seen  a  well- 
directed  boot  wipe  out  an  intricate  chess  match  as  com- 
pletely as  did  the  German  guns  the  forts  of  Liege.  The 

1 10 


SECTION  ONE 


"gunner"  in  these  fusillades  always  endeavored  to  see 
that  the  ammunition  employed  —  usually  boots  —  was 
the  property  of  some  one  else  and  the  joy  which  a  "direct 
hit "  engendered  was  apt  to  suffer  abatement  on  discovery 
that  they  were  your  boots  which  had  been  employed. 

Evacuation  —  Vic-sur-Aisne  and  Compiegne 
The  schedule  under  which  the  Squad  operated  while  on 
the  Aisne  was  a  varied  one,  and  yet  so  systematized  that 
a  driver  could  tell  a  fortnight  in  advance,  by  the  list  of 
sailings  posted  on  the  order  board,  where  he  should  be 
and  what  his  duties  at  any  given  day  or  hour.  There  were 
three  regular-route  runs,  to  each  of  which  were  assigned 
two  cars  a  day.  These  were  known  as  "evacuation  runs" 
from  the  fact  that  the  blesses  were  picked  up  at  regularly 
established  field  dressing-stations,  from  two  and  a  half 
to  fifteen  kilometres  back  of  the  line,  and  transported 
to  an  "evacuation  hospital,"  either  at  Villers-Cotterets, 
Compiegne,  or  Pierrefonds.  The  longer  of  these  routes 
was  made  twice  each  day,  a  run  of  about  forty  kilometres. 

About  two  kilometres  to  the  east  of  Jaulzy,  on  the  north 
side  of  the  river,  is  the  village  of  Vic-sur-Aisne,  at  this 
time  not  much  above  a  kilometre  back  of  the  line.  Here 
was  established  our  picket  post  and  here  we  maintained 
always  three  cars,  serving  in  twenty-four-hour  shifts. 
From  this  station  we  served  nine  frontal  postes  de  secours, 
or  line  dressing-stations,  some  of  which  were  within  five 
hundred  metres  of  the  German  line.  Such  were  the  postes 
of  Hautebraye  and  Vingre.  The  crossing  of  the  Aisne  to 
reach  Vic  is  made  by  a  single-spanned  iron  bridge,  over 
which  passed  all  the  transport  for  this  portion  of  the  line. 
Because  of  the  importance  thus  given  it,  the  bridge  was 
a  continual  object  of  the  enemy's  fire,  being  within  easy 
range.  The  village  itself,  considering  the  fact  that  it  was 
within '^sight  of  the  Germans  and  had  been  under  more 
or  less  continuous  fire  for  months,  was  not  so  complete 
a  wreck  as  might  be  imagined.  This  was  due  to  the  fact 
that  the  buildings  were  of  stone  and  the  shelling  was 

III 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


usually  done  with  small-calibre  guns.  To  obstruct  the 
enemy's  view  and  prevent  his  spotting  passing  traffic,  the 
roads  leading  from  the  village  were  screened  with  brush 
and  poles.  These  served  their  purpose  in  winter  when  the 
roads  were  muddy,  but  when  the  roads  dried,  the  rising 
dust  betrayed  the  passing  of  the  transport  and  then  the 
enemy  was  able  to  shell  with  a  greater  degree  of  accuracy. 
Our  station  at  Vic  was  located  in  the  carriage-house  of  a 
chateau  which  stood  on  an  eminence  overlooking  the 
river,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  the  east  of  the  village. 
When  on  duty  there,  we  messed  with  some  sous-officiers 
in  the  cellar  of  the  chateau,  the  place  being  fairly  safe 
from  shell  eclats  though  not  from  a  direct  hit. 

Besides  the  three  route  runs  described  and  the  Vic 
service,  the  Squad  was  subject  to  special  calls  at  any  time 
of  the  day  or  night  from  any  part  of  our  sector  or  the 
surrounding  country.  This  service  w^as  known  as  '^bureau 
duty,"  from  the  fact  that  the  cars  assigned  to  it  were 
stationed  at  our  office  or  bureau,  which  was  in  telephonic 
communication  with  the  line  and  region  about.  Twice  a 
week  one  of  the  cars  on  bureau  service  was  despatched 
to  Compiegne  on  "chow"  foraging,  an  assignment  much 
coveted,  since  it  meant  a  chance  for  a  hot  bath  and  a  good 
feed. 

Under  this  schedule  a  driver  had  one  day  in  every 
seven  for  repos.  This  was  more  in  theory  than  actuality, 
however,  as  the  seventh  day  usually  found  work  needed 
on  his  car. 

We  had  reached  Jaulzy  on  the  27th  of  January.  On  the 
first  day  of  February  we  took  over  the  sector  from  the 
retiring  French  Ambulance  Section,  and  that  day  went 
into  action.  Heretofore  we  had  watched  the  passing  pano- 
rama of  war;  now  we  were  of  it.  My  first  voyage  was  an 
evacuation  route  and  hence  wholly  back  of  the  line.  I 
went  in  company  with  another  car,  and  as  there  were 
only  four  assis  which  the  other  car  took,  I  had  no  passen- 
gers. Coming  back  from  Coeuvres,  the  road  leads  across  a 
plateau  which  overlooks  the  Aisne  Valley,  and  the  coun- 

112 


MPf»— «iiMi  I  uunwi-.i    II    I .iL.iwnini.iiwi     I  mull  Jiiiiii       I  HI     UM'    wi,i    mi     ■  pa  '■w         ,' 

I  S  S  I]  1 


PANEL   FROM  THE    SIDE   OF   A   SECTION   ONE   AMBULAN(  H    WITH 
THE  ORIGINAL   INDIAN   HEAD    INSIGNIA 


SECTION  ONE 


try  behind  the  German  lines  was  plainly  visible.  It  was 
from  this  plateau  road  that  for  the  first  time  I  saw  shells 
bursting.  The  French  batteries  in  the  valley  below  were 
in  action  and  over  there  in  Boche-land  white  puffs  of 
smoke  showed  where  the  shells  were  breaking. 

Though  I  had  several  times  been  very  close  to  the  line, 
it  was  not  until  February  was  nine  days  old  that  I  received 
my  baptism  of  fire.  On  that  day  I  was  on  twenty-four- 
hour  duty  at  Vic  and  my  journal  written  just  after  I  came 
off  duty,  will,  perhaps,  give  an  idea  of  a  typical  shift  at 
this  station: 

Notes  of  a  Call 

"Jaulzy,  February  lo.  Relieved  the  other  cars  at  Vic 
promptly  at  eight  o'clock  yesterday  morning.  The  French 
batteries  were  already  in  action,  but  there  was  no  re- 
sponse from  the  enemy  till  about  ten,  w^hen  a  number  of 
shells  whistled  by  overhead,  dropping  into  the  village  of 
Roches,  about  a  half  mile  down  the  road.  Toward  noon 
the  range  was  shortened,  and  as  we  went  to  mess  in  the 
dugout  an  ohus  struck  the  wall  back  of  the  chateau,  a 
hundred  yards  away.  After  lunch  I  went  out  with  a  sol- 
dier to  look  for  the  fusee,  as  the  bronze  shell-head  is  called. 
To  my  surprise,  the  man  suddenly  dropped  flat  on  his 
face.  Then  I  heard  an  awful  screech,  followed  by  a  crash, 
as  though  a  pile  of  lumber  were  falling,  and  a  cloud  of 
dust  rose  in  a  field,  perhaps  ninety  metres  away.  Almost 
immediately  two  more  crashed  in.  I  am  unable  to  analyze 
or  describe  my  sensations  and  I  question  whether  a 
trained  psychologist  would  be  much  better  off.  There  is 
something  "disturbing"  about  shell-fire  which  is  not  con- 
ducive to  abstract  or  analytical  thought.  I  do  not  believe 
I  was  especially  frightened;  my  feelings  were  more  of 
curiosity.  I  knew  this  shelling  would  soon  mean  work  for 
us,  so  I  got  back  to  my  car  and  saw  that  everything  was 
ready  for  'marching.*  Meanwhile  a  shell  had  dropped  just 
back  of  the  chateau,  getting  one  of  the  stretcher-bearers. 
Joe  carried  him  to  the  dressing-station  at  Roches  where  he 

113 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


died  a  little  later.  My  first  call  came  at  two  o'clock,  from 
Roches.  Here  I  got  three  men,  just  wounded  by  shell  eclats, 
evacuating  them  to  the  field  hospital  at  Attichy.  Got 
back  to  Vic  about  four.  Found  the  village  still  under  fire, 
both  our  own  and  the  enemy's  fire  having,  if  anything, 
increased.  Both  of  the  other  cars  were  out,  which  meant 
I  was  due  for  the  next  call.  Got  into  my  sleeping-bag  to 
try  to  get  warm,  but  was  hardly  settled  before  a  Mede- 
cin  Major  came  in  announcing  a  call  for  Vingre.  In  five 
minutes  we  were  on  our  way.  After  leaving  Vic  the  road 
was  a  sea  of  mud.  An  enemy  observation  balloon  had 
the  way  in  full  view,  so  the  word  was  vite, 

''Through  deserted,  shell-shattered  villages  we 
ploughed,  the  mud  spraying  us  from  tires  to  top  and 
filling  our  eyes,  over  the  wind-break.  It  was  nearing  dusk 
as  we  reached  the  paste,  a  dugout  in  the  side  of  a  hill. 
Just  above  us,  on  the  crest  was  the  line  and  we  could  hear 
distinctly  the  popping  of  hand-grenades  between  the  bat- 
tery salvos.  Our  men,  one  shot  through  the  leg,  the  other 
hit  in  the  chest,  were  brought  in  from  a  hoyau  and  we 
started  back,  this  time  going  more  slowly.  It  was  a  deso- 
late scene  through  which  we  passed,  made  more  desolate 
by  the  fading  light  of  a  gray  day.  The  miry,  deserted 
road,  the  stricken  villages,  the  overgrown  fields  —  it 
seemed  the  very  stamping-ground  of  death  and  the  voice 
of  that  death  passed  overhead  in  whining  shrieks.  There 
was  little  of  life  to  dispute  its  reign.  Now  and  then,  at  the 
nozzle  of  a  dugout,  there  appeared  a  soldier's  head,  but 
that  was  all,  and,  for  the  rest,  there  might  not  have  been 
a  soul  within  a  thousand  miles. 

"One  of  my  blesses  required  an  immediate  operation, 
so  I  passed  on  through  Vic  and  headed  for  Compiegne, 
reaching  there  about  seven  o'clock  and  evacuating  to  St. 
Luke's  Hospital.  At  once  started  back  to  my  station. 
Found  the  cook  had  saved  me  some  dinner,  and  after 
stowing  this  crawled  into  my  flea-bag.  The  blankets  were 
barely  around  me  when  a  hrancardier  came  in  with  a  call 
for  the  paste  at  Hautebraye.  The  moon  gave  a  little  light, 

114 


SECTION  ONE 


but  not  enough  to  drive  fast  with  safety,  so  we  drove  fast 
and  let  safety  look  out  for  itself,  our  motto  being  not 
"safety  first,"  but  ''save  first."  We  found  our  man  ready, 
shot  through  the  body,  raving  with  delirium,  his  hands 
bound  together  to  prevent  him  tearing  his  wound. 
Though  a  part  of  our  way  was  exposed  to  the  enemy's 
machine-gun-fire,  the  road  was  too  pitted  with  shell-holes 
to  permit  of  fast  driving  with  so  badly  wounded  a  man 
and  so  we  crept  back  to  Vic.  The  order  was  again  to 
Compiegne.  It  was  close  to  midnight  when,  numbed  with 
cold,  we  rolled  through  the  silent  streets  of  the  town. 
On  my  return  trip  I  twice  found  myself  nodding  over  the 
wheel.  Nevertheless,  we  made  the  thirty-two  kilometres 
in  less  than  an  hour.  Found  Vic  quiet,  the  shelling  having 
ceased,  and  save  for  an  occasional  trench-flare,  little  to 
indicate  it  was  the  front.  At  one  o'clock  I  turned  in  on 
the  stone  floor,  this  time  to  rest  undisturbed  till  morning. 
"Roused  out  at  6.30  to  greet  a  gray  winter  day  and 
falling  snow.  The  batteries  on  both  sides  were  already  in 
action  and  the  put-put-put  of  machine  guns  came  to  us 
through  the  crisp  air.  The  relief  cars  rolled  in  at  eight  and 
we  at  once  cranked  up  and  set  out  for  quarters.  As  we 
crossed  the  Aisne,  the  Germans  were  shelling  the  bridge, 
with  *i5o's,'  I  think.  They  had  the  exact  range,  as  re- 
gards distance,  but  the  shells  were  falling  about  a  hun- 
dred yards  to  one  side,  throwing  up  great  geysers  of  water 
as  they  struck  the  river.  On  reaching  the  other  side  I 
stopped  and  watched  them  come  in.  They  came  four  to 
the  minute.  Reached  quarters  here,  Jaulzy,  at  8.30  — 
completing  the  twenty-four-hour  shift." 

So  it  was  I  had  my  baptism  of  fire.  Perhaps  I  was  not 
frightened  by  those  first  shells;  curiosity  may  have  sup- 
planted other  sensations,  but  as  time  went  on,  and  I  saw 
the  awful  destructive  power  of  shell-fire,  when  I  had  seen 
buildings  levelled  and  men  torn  to  bloody  shreds,  the 
realization  of  their  terribleness  became  mine,  and  with  it 
came  a  terror  of  that  horrible  soul-melting  shriek.  And 

115 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


now  after  a  year  and  a  half  of  war,  during  which  I  have 
been  scores  of  times  under  fire  and  have  lived  for  weeks 
at  a  time  in  a  daily  bombarded  city,  I  am  no  more  recon- 
ciled to  shell-fire  than  at  first.  If  an^^thing,  the  sensation 
is  worse,  and  personally  I  do  not  believe  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  becoming  "used"  to  it. 

The  Sensation  of  Night  Driving 

It  was  early  in  February  that  I  got  my  first  experience 
at  night  driving  without  lights.  To  you  gentlemen  who 
have  shot  rapids,  great  game,  and  billiards,  who  have 
crossed  the  Painted  Desert  and  the  ''line,"  who  have 
punched  cows  in  Arizona  and  heads  in  Mile  End  Road, 
who  have  killed  moose  in  New  Brunswick  and  time  in 
Monte  Carlo,  who  have  tramped  and  skied  and  trekked, 
to  you  who  have  tried  these  and  still  crave  a  sensation, 
let  me  recommend  night  driving  without  lights  over  un- 
familiar shell-pitted  roads,  cluttered  with  traffic,  within 
easy  range  of  the  enemy,  challenged  every  now  and  then 
by  a  sentry  who  has  a  loaded  gun  and  no  compunction 
in  using  it.  Your  car,  which  in  daylight  never  seems  very 
powerful,  has  now  become  a  very  Juggernaut  of  force. 
At  the  slightest  increase  of  gas  it  fairly  jumps  off  the  road. 
Throttle  down  as  you  may,  the  speed  seems  terrific.  You 
find  yourself  with  your  head  thrust  over  the  wheel,  your 
eyes  staring  ahead  with  an  intensity  which  makes  them 
ache  —  staring  ahead  into  nothing.  Now  and  then  the 
blackness  seems,  if  possible,  to  become  more  dense,  and 
you  throw  out  your  clutch  and  on  your  brake  and  come 
to  a  dead  stop,  climbing  out  to  find  your  radiator  touch- 
ing an  overturned  caisson.  Or  mayhap  a  timely  gun-flash 
or  the  flare  of  a  trench  light  will  show  that  you  are  headed 
off  the  road  and  straight  for  a  tree.  A  little  farther  on, 
the  way  leads  up  a  hill  —  the  pulling  of  the  engine  is  the 
only  thing  that  tells  you  this  —  and  then,  just  as  you  top 
the  rise,  a  star-bomb  lights  the  scene  with  a  dense  white 
glare  and  the  hrancardier  by  your  side  rasps  out,  "  Vite, 
pour  V amour  de  Dieu,  vitel  Us  peuvent  nous  voir!''  —  and 

Ii6 


SECTION  ONE 


you  drop  down  the  other  side  of  that  hill  like  the  fall  of  a 
gun-hammer.  Then,  in  a  narrow,  mud-gutted  lane  in 
front  of  a  dugout,  you  back  and  fill  and  finally  turn ;  your 
bloody  load  is  eased  in  and  you  creep  back  the  way  you 
have  come,  save  that  now  every  bump  and  jolt  seems  to 
tear  your  flesh  as  you  think  of  those  poor,  stricken  chaps 
in  behind.  Yes,  there  is  something  of  tenseness  in  lightless 
night  driving  under  such  conditions.  Try  it,  gentlemen. 

On  the  afternoon  and  night  of  February  12,  there  was 
an  attack  on  the  line  near  Vingre,  preceded  by  drum-fire. 
As  such  things  go,  it  was  but  a  small  afTair.  It  would  per- 
haps have  a  line  in  the  communique;  as,  ''North  of  the 
Aisne  the  enemy  attempted  a  coup  upon  a  salient  of  our 
line,  but  we  repulsed  him  with  loss."  That  and  nothing 
more.  But  to  those  who  were  there  it  was  very  real.  The 
big  guns  spat  their  exchange  of  hate;  rifle-fire  crackled 
along  the  line;  the  machine  guns  sewed  the  air  with 
wicked  staccato  sounds,  and  men,  with  set  jaws  and  bayo- 
nets, charged  to  death  through  barbed  entanglements. 
As  night  closed  down,  the  flare- bombs  spread  their  fitful 
glare  on  mutilated  things  which  that  morning  had  been 
living  men :  now  set  in  the  bloody  back- wash  of  wounded. 
With  the  coming  of  the  night,  the  enemy  lengthened  the 
range  of  his  artillery,  so  as  to  harass  the  transport,  and 
the  zone  back  of  the  line  was  seared  with  shells.  The  field 
dressing-station  at  Roches,  near  Vic,  suffered  greatly,  and 
it  soon  became  apparent  that  its  evacuation  was  necessary. 

I  had  already  been  on  duty  fourteen  hours  when  the 
call  reached  quarters  for  the  entire  Squad.  My  journal 
for  the  13th  reads:  **Fm  too  tired  for  much  writing  as 
I've  had  but  two  hours'  sleep  in  the  last  forty,  during 
which  I  have  driven  close  to  three  hundred  kilometres, 
been  three  times  under  fire,  and  had  but  two  hot  meals. 
The  entire  Squad  was  turned  out  just  after  I  got  into  the 
blankets  last  night.  Roches  was  being  bombarded,  and  it 
was  necessary  to  take  out  all  the  wounded.  There  were  a 
number  of  new  shell-holes  in  the  road  and  this  made 
interesting  driving.  It  was  1.30  when  I  reached  Com- 

117 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


piegne,  3  when  I  had  completed  my  evacuation,  and  4.15 
this  morning  when  I  reached  quarters.  Up  at  6.30  and 
working  on  my  'bus.  This  afternoon  made  route  3.  To- 
night I  am  hien  fatigue.  Firing  Hght  to-day,  possibly 
because  of  sleet  and  rain.  The  attack  was  evidently 
repulsed." 

The  Squad  did  good  work  that  night.  Afterwards  we 
were  commended  by  the  Colonel  in  command.  It  was  in 
this  attack  that  "Bill"  won  his  Croix  de  Guerre  when 
"^  un  endroii  particulierement  expose,  au  moment  oH 
les  ohus  tomhaient  avec  violence,  a  arrete  sa  voiture  pour 
prendre  des  blesses  qu'il  a  aide  avec  courage  et  sang- 
froidy  A  week  later  he  was  decorated,  our  muddy  little 
courtyard  being  the  setting  for  the  ceremony. 

In  celebration  of  his  decoration,  "Bill"  determined  to 
give  a  "burst."  There  would  seem  to  be  few  places  less 
adapted  to  the  serving  of  a  banquet  or  less  capable  of 
offering  material  than  poor  little  war- torn  Jaulzy.  Never- 
theless, at  six  o'clock  on  the  evening  of  February  2^,  the 
Squad  sat  down  to  a  repast  that  would  have  done  credit 
to  any  hotel.  "Bill"  had  enlisted  the  services  of  a  Paris 
caterer,  and  not  only  was  the  food  itself  perfection,  but  it 
was  served  in  a  style  that,  after  our  accustomed  tin  cup, 
tin  plate  service,  positively  embarrassed  us.  Our  dingy 
quarters  were  decorated  and  made  light  by  carbide  lamps ; 
a  snowy  cloth  covered  our  plank  table;  stacks  of  china 
dishes  —  not  tin  —  appeared  at  each  place ;  there  were 
chairs  to  sit  upon.  Even  flowers  were  not  forgotten,  and 
"Bill,"  being  a  Yale  man,  had  seen  to  it  that  beside  the 
plates  of  the  other  Yale  men  in  the  Squad  were  placed 
bunches  of  violets.  The  artist  of  the  Section  designed  a 
menu  card,  but  we  were  too  busy  crashing  into  the  food 
to  pay  any  attention  to  the  menu.  For  a  month  past  we 
had  been  living  mostly  on  boiled  beef  and  Army  bread, 
and  the  way  the  Squad  now  eased  into  regular  food  was 
an  eye-opener  to  dietitians.  Hors  d'oeuvres,  fish,  ham, 
roasts,  vegetables,  salads,  sweets,  wines,  and  smokes  dis- 
appeared like  art  in  a  Hun  raid.  Twenty  men  may  have 

118 


SECTION  ONE 


gotten  through  a  greater  quantity  and  variety  of  food  in 
three  hours  and  Hved,  but  it  is  not  on  record.  And  through 
it  all  the  guns  snarled  and  roared  unheeded,  and  the  flare- 
bombs  shed  their  fitful  glare.  Verily,  in  after  years,  when 
men  shall  foregather  and  the  talk  flows  in  Epicurean 
channels,  if  one  there  be  present  who  was  at  "Bill's 
burst,"  surely  his  speech  shall  prevail. 

February,  w^hich  had  come  in  with  mild  weather,  lost 
its  temper  as  it  advanced ;  the  days  became  increasingly 
cold  and  snow  fell.  The  nights  were  cruel  for  driving.  One 
night  I  remember  especially.  I  had  responded  to  a  call 
just  back  of  the  line  where  I  got  my  hlesse,  a  poor  chap 
shot  through  the  lung.  It  was  snowing,  the  flakes  driving 
down  with  a  vicious  force  that  stung  the  eyes  and  brought 
tears.  In  spite  of  the  snow  it  was  very  black,  and  to  show 
a  light  meant  to  draw  fire.  We  crept  along,  for  fear  of 
running  into  a  ditch  or  colliding  with  traffic.  At  kilometre 
8  my  engine  began  to  miss.  I  got  out  and  changed  plugs, 
but  this  did  not  help  much  and  we  limped  along.  The 
opiate  given  the  hlesse  had  begun  to  wear  off,  and  his 
groans  sounded  above  the  whistling  of  the  wind.  Once  in 
the  darkness  I  lost  the  road,  going  several  kilometres  out 
of  my  way  before  I  realized  the  error.  The  engine  was 
getting  weaker  every  minute,  but  by  this  time  I  was  out 
of  gun  range  and  able  to  use  a  lantern.  With  the  aid  of 
the  light,  I  was  able  to  make  some  repairs,  though  my 
hands  were  so  benumbed  I  could  scarcely  hold  the  tools. 
The  car  now  * 'marched"  better  and  I  started  ahead.  Sev- 
eral times  a  ''qui  vive?''  came  out  of  the  darkness,  to 
which  I  ejaculated  a  startled  ''France''  The  snow- veiled 
clock  in  Villers-Cotterets  showed  the  hour  was  half  after 
midnight  when  we  made  our  way  up  the  choked  streets. 
But  ''the  load"  had  come  through  safely. 

Uncomfortable  as  these  runs  were  —  and  every  mem- 
ber of  the  Squad  made  them  not  once,  but  many  times  — 
they  were  what  lent  fascination  to  the  work.  They  made 
us  feel  that  it  was  worth  while  and,  however  small  the 
way,  we  were  helping. 

119 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


It  was  about  this  time  that  the  Service  was  mihtar- 
ized  and  incorporated  into  the  Automobile  Corps  of  the 
French  Army.  Thereafter,  we  were  classed  as ' '  Militaires  " 
and  wore  on  our  tunics  the  red-winged  symbol  of  the 
Automobile  Corps.  We  were  now  subject  to  all  the  rules 
and  regulations  governing  regularly  enlisted  men,  with 
one  exception  —  the  duration  of  our  enlistments.  We 
were  permitted  to  enlist  for  six  months'  periods  with 
optional  three  months'  extensions,  and  were  not  compelled 
to  serve  ''for  duration."  As  incident  to  the  militarization, 
we  received  five  sous  a  day  per  man  —  the  pay  of  the 
French  poilu  —  and  in  addition  were  entitled  to  "touch" 
certain  articles,  such  as  shelter  tents,  sabots,  tobacco, 
etc.  We  had  already  been  furnished  with  steel  helmets 
and  gas-masks.  We  were  also  granted  the  military  fran- 
chise for  our  mail. 

While  at  Jaulzy,  the  personnel  of  the  Squad  changed 
considerably.  The  terms  of  several  men  having  expired, 
they  left,  their  places  being  taken  by  new  recruits.  Thus 
"Hippo,"  "Bob,"  "Brooke,"  and  "Magnum"  joined  us. 
Nor  must  I  forget  to  mention  another  important  addition 
to  our  number  —  the  puppy  mascot  "Vic."  He  was  given 
to  us  by  a  tirailleur,  who  being  on  the  march  could  not 
take  care  of  him,  and  one  of  the  fellows  brought  him  back 
to  quarters  in  his  pocket,  a  tiny  soft,  white  ball  who  in- 
stantly wriggled  himself  into  the  Squad's  affections. 

When  we  got  him,  he  could  scarcely  toddle  and  was 
never  quite  certain  where  his  legs  would  carry  him.  Yet 
even  then  the  button,  which  he  fondly  believed  a  tail, 
stuck  belligerently  upright,  like  a  shattered  mast  from 
which  had  been  shot  the  flag.  For  he,  being  a  child  of 
war,  had  fear  of  nothing,  no,  not  gun-fire  itself,  and  as 
he  grew  older  we  took  him  with  us  on  our  runs  and  he 
was  often  under  shell-fire.  He  was  always  at  home,  in 
chateau  or  dugout,  always  sure  of  himself,  and  could  tell 
one  of  our  khaki  uniforms  a  mile  away,  picking  us  out  of 
a  mob  of  blue-clad  soldiers.  Such  was  "Vic,"  the  Squad 
mascot. 

120 


SECTION  ONE 


Leaving  Jaulzy 

On  the  evening  of  March  3,  orders  came  in  to  be  pre- 
pared to  move,  and  the  following  afternoon,  in  a  clinging, 
wet  snow,  we  left  Jaulzy  and  proceeded  to  the  village  of 
Courtieux,  some  three  kilometres  distant.  The  village  is 
in  the  general  direction  of  Vic-sur-Aisne,  but  back  from 
the  main  road.  For  months  successive  bodies  of  troops 
had  been  quartered  here  and  we  found  it  a  squalid,  cheer- 
less hole,  fetlock  deep  in  mud.  Our  billet  was  a  small, 
windowless  house,  squatting  in  the  mud  and  through 
which  the  wind  swept  the  snow.  There  was  also  a  shed, 
with  bush  sides  and  roof  wherein  our  mess  was  established. 
Why  we  had  been  ordered  from  Jaulzy  to  this  place  but 
three  kilometres  away,  it  would  be  impossible  to  say. 
We  were  maintaining  the  same  schedule  and  Courtieux 
was  certainly  not  so  convenient  a  place  from  which  to 
operate.  We  cogitated  much  on  the  matter,  but  reached 
no  conclusion.  It  was  just  one  of  the  mysteries  of  war. 
The  three  days  succeeding  our  arrival  were  uncomfort- 
able ones.  The  weather  continued  bad  with  low  tempera- 
ture. When  we  were  off  duty  there  was  nowhere  to  go, 
save  to  bed,  and  there  were  no  beds.  What  Courtieux 
lacked  in  other  things  it  made  up  in  mud,  and  our  cars 
were  constantly  mired.  As  a  relief  from  the  monotony 
of  the  village,  three  of  us,  being  off  duty  one  afternoon, 
made  a  peregrination  to  the  front-line  trenches,  passing 
through  miles  of  winding,  connecting  boyaux  until  we 
lost  all  sense  of  direction.  We  really  had  no  right  to  go 
up  to  the  line,  but  we  met  with  no  opposition,  all  the  sol- 
diers we  met  greeting  us  with  friendly  camaraderie  and 
the  officers  responding  to  our  salutes  with  a  honjour.  We 
found  the  front  line  disappointingly  quiet.  There  was 
little  or  no  small-arm  firing  going  on,  though  both  sides 
were  carrying  on  a  desultory  shelling.  Through  a  sand- 
bagged loophole  we  could  see  a  low  mud  escarpment 
about  ninety  metres  away  —  the  enemy's  line.  It  was  not 
an  exciting  view,  the  chief  interest  being  lent  by  the  fact 

121 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


that  in  taking  it  you  were  likely  to  have  your  eye  shot  out. 
All  things  considered,  the  excursion  was  a  rather  tame 
affair,  though  we  who  had  made  it  did  our  best  to  play 
it  up  to  the  rest  of  the  Squad  upon  our  return. 

We  remained  at  Courtieux  but  three  days,  and  then, 
at  nine  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the  4th,  assembled  in 
convoy  at  Taulzy.  It  was  one  of  the  coldest  mornings  of 
the  winter;  the  trees  were  masses  of  ice  and  the  snow 
creaked  beneath  the  tires,  while  our  feet,  hands,  and  ears 
suffered  severely.  As  usual,  we  had  no  idea  of  our  destina- 
tion. That  our  Division  had  been  temporarily  withdrawn 
from  the  line  and  that  we  were  to  be  attached  to  another 
Division,  was  the  extent  of  our  information.  By  the  time 
the  convoy  had  reached  Compiegne  we  were  all  rather 
well  numbed.  When  the  CO.  halted  in  the  town,  he  had 
failed  to  note  a  patisserie  was  in  the  vicinity,  and  the  mo- 
tors had  hardly  been  shut  off  before  the  Squad  en  masse 
stormed  the  place,  consuming  gateaux  and  stuffing  more 
gateaux  into  its  collective  pockets.  Meanwhile,  outside, 
the  "Lieut"  blew  his  starting  whistle  in  vain. 

MONTDIDIER  —  MOREUIL 

Shortly  before  noon  we  made  the  city  of  Montdidier, 
where  we  lunched  in  the  hotel  and  waited  for  the  laggard 
cars  to  come  up.  About  three  we  again  got  away,  passing 
through  a  beautiful  rolling  country,  and  as  darkness  was 
falling  parked  our  cars  in  the  town  of  Moreuil.  It  was  too 
late  to  find  a  decent  billet  for  the  night.  A  dirty,  rat- 
infested  warehouse  was  all  that  offered,  and  after  looking 
this  over,  most  of  us  decided,  in  spite  of  the  cold,  to  sleep 
in  our  cars.  Our  mess  was  established  in  the  back  room 
of  the  town's  principal  cafe,  and  the  fresh  bread,  which 
we  obtained  from  a  near-by  bakery,  made  a  welcome  addi- 
tion to  Army  fare.  Moreuil  proved  to  be  a  dull  little  town, 
at  that  time  some  twenty-five  kilometres  back  of  the  line. 
Aside  from  an  aviation  field  there  was  little  of  interest. 

On  the  third  day  of  our  stay  we  were  reviewed  and 
inspected  by  the  ranking  officer  of  the  sector.  He  did  not 

122 


VACHERAUVILLE  THAT   WAS  A   CHEERFUL.  VILLAGE   NEAR  VERDUN 


LENDING   A   HAND   AT  A   "POSTE" 


SECTION  ONE 


appear  very  enthusiastic,  and  expressed  his  doubt  as  to 
our  ability  to  perform  the  work  for  which  we  were  des- 
tined, an  aspersion  which  greatly  vexed  us.  Our  vindi- 
cation came  two  months  later  when,  having  tested  us  in 
action,  he  gave  us  unstinted  praise  and  spoke  of  us  in  the 
highest  terms. 

After  the  review,  the  CO.  announced  that  we  had 
received  orders  to  move  and  would  leave  the  following 
day  for  a  station  on  the  Somme.  He  refused  to  confirm 
the  rumor  that  our  destination  was  "Moscow." 

The  Somme 

It  was  10.50  on  a  snowy,  murky  morning  —  Friday, 
March  10  —  that  our  convoy  came  to  a  stop  in  the  village 
of  Mericourt,  destined  to  be  our  Headquarters  for  some 
months  to  come.  There  was  little  of  cheer  in  the  prospect. 
One  street  —  the  road  by  which  we  had  entered  —  two 
abortive  side  streets  —  these  lined  with  one-  or  two-storied 
peasants'  cottages  —  and  everywhere,  inches  deep,  a 
sticky,  clinging  mud:  such  was  Mericourt.  This  entry 
from  my  journal  fairly  expresses  our  feelings  at  the  time: 
"In  peace  times  this  village  must  be  depressive;  now  with 
added  grimness  of  war  it  is  dolorous.  A  sea  of  mud,  shat- 
tered homes,  a  cesspool  in  its  centre,  rats  ever3rvvhere. 
This  is  Mericourt:  merry  hell  would  be  more  expressive 
and  accurate." 

Our  first  impression  was  not  greatly  heightened  by 
viewing  the  quarters  assigned  to  us,  and  we  felt  with  Joe 
that  "they  meant  very  little  in  our  young  lives."  Two 
one-and-a-half-storied  peasants'  cottages,  with  debris- 
littered  floor  and  leaking  roof,  these  rheumatic  structures 
forming  one  side  of  a  sort  of  courtyard  and  commanding 
a  splendid  view  of  a  large,  well-filled  cesspool,  constituted 
our  cantonment.  It  would  have  taken  a  Jersey  real-estate 
agent  to  find  good  points  in  the  prospect.  The  optimist 
who  remarked  that  at  least  there  were  no  flies  was  cowed 
into  silence  by  the  rejoinder  that  the  same  could  be  said 
of  the  North  Pole.  However,  we  set  to  work,  cleaned  and 

123 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


disinfected,  constructed  a  stone  causeway  across  "the 
campus,"  and  by  late  afternoon  had,  to  some  extent, 
made  the  place  habitable.  A  bevy  of  rats  at  least  seemed 
to  consider  the  place  so,  and  we  never  lacked  for  company 
of  the  rodent  species. 

The  twenty  of  us  set  up  our  stretcher-beds  In  the  two 
tiny  rooms  and  the  attic,  and  were  at  home.  One  of  the 
ground-floor  rooms  —  and  it  had  only  the  ground  for  a 
floor  —  possessed  a  fireplace,  the  chimney  of  which  led 
into  the  attic  above.  Here  It  became  tired  of  being  a  chim- 
ney, resigned  its  duties,  and  became  a  smoke-dispenser. 
It  was  natural  that  the  ground-floor  dwellers,  having  a 
fireplace,  should  desire  fire.  It  was  natural,  also,  that  the 
dwellers  above,  being  Imbued  with  strong  ideas  on  the 
subject  of  choking  to  death,  should  object  to  that  fire. 
Argument  ensued.  For  a  time  those  below  prevailed,  but 
the  attic  dwellers  possessed  the  final  word,  and  when  their 
rebuttal  —  In  the  shape  of  several  cartridges  —  was 
dropped  dow^n  the  chimney  on  the  fire,  those  below  lost 
interest  In  the  matter  and  there  prevailed  an  Intense  and 
eager  longing  for  the  great  outdoors. 

We  established  our  mess  In  what  in  peace  times  was  a 
tiny  cafe,  in  the  back  room  of  which  an  adipose  proprie- 
tress, one  of  the  few  remaining  civiles,  still  dispensed 
pinard  and  hospitality.  It  was  In  the  same  back  room  one 
night  that  a  soldier,  exhibiting  a  hand-grenade,  acciden- 
tally set  it  off,  killing  himself,  a  comrade,  and  wounding 
five  others,  whom  we  evacuated.  Incidentally  the  explo- 
sion scared  our  zouave  cook  who  at  the  time  was  sleeping 
in  an  adjoining  room.  He  was  more  frightened  than  he 
had  been  since  the  first  battle  of  the  Marne. 

The  front  room,  which  was  our  mess  hall,  was  just  long 
enough  to  permit  the  twenty  of  us,  seated  ten  to  a  side, 
to  squeeze  about  our  plank  table.  The  remaining  half  of 
the  room  was  devoted  to  the  galley,  where  the  zouave 
held  forth  with  his  pots  and  pans  and  reigned  supreme. 
The  walls  of  this  room  had  once  been  painted  a  sea-green, 
but  now  were  faded  into  a  bilious,  colicky  color.  Great 

124 


SECTION  ONE 


beads  of  sweat  were  always  starting  out  and  trickling 
down  as  though  the  house  itself  were  in  the  throes  of  a 
deadly  agony. 

Mericourt-sur-Somme 

Mericourt  is  situated  about  a  fifth  of  a  mile  from  the 
right  bank  of  the  river  Somme,  and  at  this  time  was 
about  seven  and  a  half  or  eight  kilometres  from  the  front 
line.  The  Somme  at  this  point  marked  the  dividing  line 
between  the  French  and  English  armies,  the  French  hold- 
ing to  the  south,  the  English  to  the  north.  Though  within 
easy  range  of  the  enemy's  mid-calibre  artillery,  it  was 
seldom  shelled,  and  I  can  recall  but  one  or  two  occasions 
during  our  entire  stay  when  shells  passed  over. 

As  on  the  Aisne,  we  got  our  wounded  from  a  number 
of  scattered  pastes,  some  close  to  the  line,  others  farther 
back,  some  located  in  villages,  others  in  mere  dugouts  in 
the  side  of  a  hill.  Evacuations  were  usually  made  to  the 
town  of  Villers-Bretonneux  where  were  located  a  number 
of  field  hospitals,  or  to  an  operating  hospital  at  the  village 
of  Cerisy  about  fifteen  kilometres  from  the  line.  A  regular 
schedule  of  calls  was  maintained  to  certain  pastes,  the 
cars  making  rounds  twice  a  day.  Such  were  the  pastes  at 
the  villages  of  Proyart,  Chuignes,  Chuignolles,  and  in  the 
dugouts  at  Baraquette  and  Fontaine  les  Cappy,  all  some 
kilometres  back  of  the  line,  but  under  intermittent  shell- 
fire.  Besides  these  pastes  there  were  several  others  which, 
because  of  their  close  proximity  to  the  enemy  and  their 
exposure  to  machine-gun-fire,  could  only  be  made  at  night. 
There  was  Rainecourt,  less  than  half  a  kilometre  from  the 
enemy's  position ;  the  Knotted  Tree,  four  hundred  metres 
from  the  Germans,  and  actually  in  the  second-line  trench, 
where,  in  turning,  the  engine  had  to  be  shut  off  and  the 
car  pushed  by  hand,  lest  the  noise  of  the  motor  draw  fire. 
There,  too,  was  the  paste  at  the  village  of  Eclusier,  a  par- 
ticularly fine  run,  since  it  was  reached  by  a  narrow,  ex- 
ceedingly rough  road  which  bordered  a  deep  canal  and 
was  exposed  throughout  its  length  to  mitrailleuse  fire, 

125 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 

Besides  this,  the  road  was  lined  with  batteries  for  which 
the  Boches  wxrc  continually  "searching." 

Villers-Bretonneux  —  Proyart 

We  went  into  action  on  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  we 
reached  M6ricourt.  My  orders  were  to  go  to  a  point  indi- 
cated on  the  map  as  the  Route  Nationale,  there  pick  up 
my  blesses  and  evacuate  them  to  the  town  of  Villers- 
Bretonneux.  I  was  further  instructed  not  to  go  down  this 
road  too  far,  as  I  would  drive  into  the  enemy's  lines.  How 
I  was  to  determine  what  was  "too  far"  until  it  was  "too 
late,"  or  how  I  was  to  determine  the  location  of  the  poste 
—  a  dugout  beneath  the  road  —  was  left  to  my  own  solu- 
tion. With  these  cheering  instructions  I  set  out.  I  reached 
the  village  of  Proyart  through  which  my  route  lay,  noted 
with  interest  the  effect  of  bombardment,  passed  on  and 
came  to  the  Route  Nationale.  Here,  as  were  my  instruc- 
tions, I  turned  to  the  left.  I  was  now  headed  directly 
toward  the  line  which  I  knew  could  not  be  very  far  away 
and  which  transversed  the  road  ahead.  I  pushed  rather 
cautiously  up  two  small  hills,  my  interest  always  in- 
creasing as  I  neared  the  top  and  anticipated  what  sort  of 
greeting  might  be  awaiting  me.  I  was  on  my  third  hill  and 
feeling  a  bit  depressed  and  lonesome,  not  having  seen  a 
person  since  leaving  the  sentry  at  Proyart,  when  I  heard 
a  shout  somewhere  behind  me.  Looking  back  I  beheld  a 
soldier  wildly  semaphoring.  It  did  not  take  me  long  to 
turn  the  car  and  slide  back  down  the  hill.  Reaching  the 
bottom,  I  drew  up  by  the  soldier,  who  informed  me  that 
the  crest  of  the  hill  was  in  full  view  of  the  enemy  and 
under  fire  from  the  machine  guns.  I  felt  that  the  informa- 
tion was  timely.' 

The  poste  proved  to  be  a  dugout  directly  beneath  w^here 
I  had  stopped  my  car.  Here  I  secured  a  load  of  w^ounded 
and  by  dusk  had  safely  evacuated  them  to  the  hospital 
at  Villers-Bretonneux.  Consulting  my  map  at  the  hospital 
it  became  evident  that  there  was  a  more  direct  route  back 
to  quarters,  and  I  determined  on  this.  As  I  was  by  no 

126 


SECTION  ONE 


means  sure  of  the  location  of  the  Hne,  I  drove  without 
lights,  and  as  a  result  crashed  into  what  proved  to  be  a 
pile  of  rocks,  but  which  I  had  taken  to  be  a  pile  of  snow, 
the  jar  almost  loosening  my  teeth-fillings.  The  car  was 
apparently  none  the  worse  for  the  encounter  and  I  reached 
quarters  without  further  mishap. 

The  aftermath  of  the  mishap  occurred  next  day.  Driv- 
ing at  a  good  pace  up  a  grade  —  fortunately  with  no 
wounded  on  board  —  I  suddenly  found  the  steering-gear 
would  not  respond  to  the  wheel.  There  was  half  a  moment 
of  helpless  suspense,  then  the  car  shot  off  the  side  of  the 
road  down  a  steep  incline,  hit  a  boulder,  and  turned  com- 
pletely upside  down.  As  we  went  over  I  managed  to  kick 
off  the  switch,  lessening  the  chance  of  an  explosion.  The 
Quartermaster,  who  was  with  me,  and  I  were  wholly  un- 
able to  extricate  ourselves,  but  some  soldiers,  passing  at 
the  time,  lifted  the  car  off  us  and  we  crawled  out  none 
the  worse.  ''Old  Number  Nine,"  save  for  a  broken  steer- 
ing rod,  the  cause  of  the  spill,  and  a  small  radiator  leak, 
was  as  fit  as  ever,  and  half  an  hour  later,  the  rod  replaced, 
was  once  more  rolling. 

Cappy 

Our  picket  poste  was  established  at  the  village  of  Cappy. 
To  reach  the  village  from  Mericourt  we  passed  over  a 
stretch  of  road  marked  with  the  warning  sign,  "This  road 
under  shell-fire:  convoys  or  formed  bodies  of  troops  will 
not  pass  during  daylight."  Continuing,  we  crossed  the 
Somme,  at  this  point  entering  the  English  line,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  the  village  of  Bray.  Thence  the  road  wandered 
through  a  rolling  land  for  a  kilometre  or  so,  again  crossing 
the  river  and  a  canal  at  the  outskirts  of  the  village. 

Cappy  lay  in  a  depression  behind  a  rise  of  ground 
about  a  kilometre  and  a  half  from  the  line.  In  peace  times 
it  was  doubtless  a  rather  attractive  little  place  of  perhaps 
three  hundred  people.  Now,  devastated  by  days  and 
months  of  bombardment,  and  the  passing  of  countless 
soldiers,  deserted  by  its  civil  population  and  invaded 

127 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 

by  countless  rats,  it  presented  an  aspect  forlorn  beyond 
imagination.  On  a  gray  winter's  day,  with  sleet  beating 
down  and  deepening  the  already  miry  roads,  and  a  dreary 
wind  whistling  through  the  shattered  houses,  the  place 
cried  out  with  the  desolation  of  war.  And  when,  at  night, 
a  full  moon  shone  through  the  stripped  rafters,  when  the 
rats  scuttled  about  and  when,  perhaps,  there  was  no 
firing  and  only  the  muffled  pop  of  a  trench-light,  the  spirit 
of  death  itself  stalked  abroad  and  the  ghosts  of  the  men 
who  had  there  met  their  doom  haunted  its  gruesome, 
cluttered  streets.  And  then,  while  the  silence  hung  like 
a  pall  until  it  fairly  oppressed  one,  there  would  come  the 
awful  screech,  and  the  noises  of  hell  w^ould  break  loose. 
There  was  no  way  of  telling  when  the  bombardment 
would  come.  It  might  be  at  high  noon  or  at  midnight,  at 
twilight  or  as  the  day  broke.  Nor  could  the  duration  be 
guessed.  Sometimes  a  single  shell  crashed  in;  sometimes 
a  single  salvo  of  a  battery;  or  again,  the  bombardment 
would  continue  for  an  hour  or  more.  It  was  this  uncer- 
tainty which  gave  the  place  a  tense,  uncomfortable  atmos- 
phere so  that  even  when  there  was  no  shelling  the  quiet 
was  an  uncanny  quiet  which  was  almost  harder  to  bear 
than  the  shelling  itself. 

In  Gappy  no  one  remained  aboveground  more  than 
was  necessary.  Nearly  every  house  had  its  cellar,  and 
these  cellars  were  deepened,  roofed  with  timbers,  and 
piled  high  with  sandbags.  A  cave  so  constructed  was 
reasonably  bomb-proof  from  small  shells — ''77'^''  — 
but  offered  little  resistance  to  anything  larger,  and  I  recall 
several  occasions  when  a  shell  of  larger  calibre,  making  a 
direct  hit,  either  killed  or  wounded  every  occupant  of 
such  a  shelter.  The  resident  population  of  the  town  was 
limited  to  a  group  of  brancardiers,  some  grave-diggers, 
the  crews  of  several  goulash  batteries,  and  some  doctors 
and  surgeons.  I  must  not  forget  to  mention  the  sole  re- 
maining representative  of  the  civil  population.  He  was 
an  old,  old  man,  so  old  it  seemed  the  very  shells  respected 
his  age  and  war  itself  deferred  to  his  feebleness.  Clad  in 

128 


SECTION  ONE 


nondescript  rags,  his  tottering  footsteps  supported  by  a 
staff,  at  any  hour  of  the  day  or  night  he  could  be  seen 
making  his  uncertain  way  among  what  were  the  ruins  of 
w^hat  had  once  been  a  prosperous  town  —  his  town.  With 
him,  also  tottering,  was  always  a  wizened  old  dog  who 
seemed  the  Methuselah  of  all  dogs.  Panting  along  behind 
his  master,  his  glazed  eyes  never  leaving  him,  the  dog, 
too,  staggered.  There,  alone  in  the  midst  of  this  crucified 
town,  the  twain  dwelt,  refusing  to  leave  what  to  them 
was  yet  home.  And  daily  as  their  town  crumbled,  they 
crumbled,  until  at  last,  one  morning,  we  found  the  old 
chap  dead,  his  dog  by  his  side.  That  day  was  laid  to  rest 
the  last  citizen  of  Cappy. 

The  dressing-station  was  located  in  what  in  peace  times 
was  the  town  hall,  or  mairie,  a  two-story  brick  building 
having  a  central  structure  flanked  by  two  small  wrings. 
The  building  was  banked  with  sandbags  which,  while  not 
rendering  it  by  any  means  shell-proof,  did  protect  it  from 
shrapnel  and  eclats.  The  central  room  was  devoted  to  the 
w^ounded,  who  were  brought  in  from  the  trenches  on  little 
two-wheeled,  hand-pushed  trucks,  each  truck  supporting 
one  stretcher.  A  shallow  trough  was  built  around  the  sides 
of  the  room  and  in  this,  upon  straw,  the  wounded  were 
placed  in  rows,  while  awaiting  the  doctor.  In  this  portion 
of  the  building  was  also  located  the  mortuary  where  those 
who  died  after  being  brought  in  w^ere  placed  preparatory 
to  burial.  The  bodies  were  placed  two  on  a  stretcher,  the 
head  of  one  resting  on  the  feet  of  another.  It  was  a  ghastly 
place,  this  little  room,  with  its  silent,  mangled  tenants, 
lying  there  awaiting  their  last  bivouac.  On  one  side  of  the 
room  was  a  small,  silver  crucifix  above  which  hung  the 
tricolored  flag  of  the  Republic  guarding  those  who  had 
died  that  it  might  live. 

In  the  left  wing  was  the  emergency  operating-room 
where  the  surgeons  worked,  frequently  under  fire.  At  the 
opposite  end  of  the  building  was  the  room  we  had  for  our 
quarters  and  where  we  slept  when  occasion  permitted. 
The  place  was  quite  frequently  hit  —  on  five  separate 

129 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


occasions  while  I  was  in  the  building  —  and  its  occupants 
suffered  many  narrow  escapes.  The  location  was  regarded 
as  so  unsafe  that  an  elaborate  abri  was  finally  constructed 
back  of  the  mairie.  This  was  an  extraordinarily  well-built 
and  ample  affair,  consisting  of  several  tunnels  seven  feet 
high  in  the  centre,  walled  and  roofed  with  heavy  galvan- 
ized iron  supported  by  stout  beams.  The  roof  at  the 
highest  point  was  fully  ten  feet  below  the  surface  of  the 
ground.  There  were  two  rows  of  shelves  running  along 
both  sides  of  the  tunnels  which  had  a  total  capacity  of 
forty  stretcher  cases.  At  one  end  was  a  small  operating- 
room,  and  there  were  two  exits,  so  that,  if  one  became 
blocked,  the  occupants  might  find  egress  through  the 
other.  Both  of  these  exits  were  winding  so  as  to  prevent 
the  admission  of  flying  shell  fragments  and  were  draped 
with  curtains  to  keep  out  the  poison  gas.  Beside  these 
curtains  stood  tubs  of  anti-gas  solution  for  their  drench- 
ing. This  structure  was  proof  against  all  save  the  heaviest 
shells  and  took  some  eight  weeks  in  building. 

The  Human  Shell  —  "Huit  Jours  de  Prison  " 

When  on  duty  at  Gappy  we  messed  with  some  medical 
sous-officiers  in  a  dugout,  entrance  to  which  was  had  by 
descending  a  steep  flight  of  steps.  Down  in  this  cellar,  in 
the  dim  twilight  which  there  prevailed,  we  enjoyed  many 
a  meal.  The  officers  were  a  genial  lot,  like  most  French- 
men delightfully  courteous  and  much  given  to  quaffing 
pinard.  Their  chief  occupation  was  the  making  of  paper 
knives  from  copper  shrapnel  bands,  and  they  never  lacked 
for  material,  for  each  day  the  Boche  threw  in  a  fresh 
supply. 

One  of  these  chaps,  through  constant  opportunity  and 
long  practice,  could  give  a  startling  imitation  of  the  shriek 
of  a  shell,  an  accomplishment  which  got  him  into  trouble, 
for  happening  one  day  to  perform  this  specialty  while  a 
non-appreciative  and  startled  Colonel  was  passing,  he 
was  presented  with  eight  days'  arrest. 

The  cook  of  the  mess  was  a  believer  in  garlic  —  I  might 

130 


SECTION  ONE 


say  a  strong  believer.  Where  he  acquired  the  stuff  amidst 
such  surroundings  was  a  mystery  beyond  solution,  but 
acquire  it  he  certainly  did.  Put  him  in  the  middle  of  the 
Sahara  Desert  and  I  am  prepared  to  wager  that  within 
a  half-hour  that  cook  would  dig  up  some  garlic.  He  put  it 
into  everything,  rice,  meat,  whatever  we  ate.  I  am  con- 
vinced that,  supposing  he  could  have  made  a  custard  pie, 
he  would  have  added  garlic.  His  specialty  was  beef  boiled 
in  wine,  a  combination  hard  on  the  beef,  hard  on  the 
wine,  and  hard  on  the  partaker  thereof. 

Coming  out  of  the  cellar  from  mess  one  noon  —  a  wet, 
dismal  day  I  remember  —  I  was  startled  into  immobil- 
ity to  hear  the  splendid  strains  of  the  "Star-Spangled 
Banner,"  magnificently  played  on  a  piano.  I  was  still 
standing  at  attention,  and  the  last  note  had  barely  died 
away,  when  the  one  remaining  door  of  a  half-demolished 
house  opened  and  a  tall,  handsome  young  fellow  with  the 
stripes  of  a  corporal  appeared,  saluted,  and  bade  me 
enter.  I  did  so,  and  found  myself  in  a  small  room  upon  the 
walls  of  which  hung  the  usual  military  trappings.  Stacked 
in  the  corners  and  leaning  against  the  walls  were  a  num- 
ber of  simple  wooden  crosses  with  the  customary  inscrip- 
tion, *' Mort  pour  la  patrie^  Five  soldiers  rose  and  bade 
me  welcome.  They  were  a  group  of  grave-diggers  and 
here  they  dwelt  amid  their  crosses.  Their  profession  did 
not  seem  to  have  affected  their  spirits,  and  they  were  as 
jolly  a  lot  as  I  have  ever  seen,  constantly  chaffing  each 
other,  and  when  the  chap  at  the  piano  —  who,  by  the 
way,  before  the  war  had  been  a  musician  at  the  Carlton 
in  London,  and  who  spoke  excellent  English  —  struck 
a  chord,  they  all  automatically  broke  into  song.  It  was 
splendidly  done  and  they  enjoyed  it  as  thoroughly  as  did 
I.  The  piano  they  had  rescued  from  a  wrecked  chateau  at 
the  other  end  of  the  town  and  to  them  it  was  a  godsend 
indeed.  Before  I  left,  at  my  request,  they  sang  the  Mar- 
seillaise. I  have  seldom  heard  anything  finer  than  when 
in  that  little,  stricken  town,  amidst  those  gruesome  tokens 
of  war's  toll,  these  men  stood  at  attention  and  sounded 


131 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


forth  the  stirring  words  of  their  country's  hymn.  When  I 
left  it  was  with  a  feehng  that  surely  with  such  a  spirit 
animating  a  people,  there  could  be  but  one  outcome  to 
the  struggle. 

We  had  another  twenty-four-hour  station  at  the  vil- 
lage of  Cerisy  some  fifteen  or  more  kilometres  back  of  the 
line,  where  was  located  an  operating  hospital.  Here  we 
maintained  always  one  car  for  the  transportation  of  such 
wounded  as  required  evacuation  to  the  railhead.  At  this 
station  we  were  privileged  to  sleep  on  stretchers  in  the 
same  tent  with  the  wounded.  Personally  I  found  one  night 
in  their  quarters  was  quite  enough  for  me.  The  groaning, 
the  odor  of  anaesthetics,  the  blood,  the  raving  of  the  de- 
lirious, and  "the  passing"  of  two  of  the  inmates  before 
morning  drove  me  out  to  my  car,  where  I  often  slept 
when  on  duty  at  the  station. 

We  soon  began  to  feel  completely  at  home  at  Meri- 
court.  Our  schedule  kept  us  busy  without  overworking 
us,  and  there  was  just  enough  risk  in  the  life  to  lend  it 
spice.  We  had  a  splendid  Commander,  an  efficient  Chef, 
and  as  a  result  the  Squad  worked  in  entire  harmony.  At 
this  time  we  were  attached  to  the  3d  Colonials,  a  reckless, 
hard-fighting  bunch,  as  fine  a  lot  as  serve  the  Tricolor. 
The  relations  existing  between  ourselves  and  the  French 
could  not  have  been  more  cordial.  The  innate  courtesy 
and  kindness,  which  is  so  characteristic  of  the  people, 
found  expression  in  so  many  ways  and  their  appreciation 
so  far  exceeded  any  service  we  rendered  that  we  could 
not  help  but  be  warmly  drawn  toward  them,  while  their 
cheerful  devotion  and  splendid  courage  held  always  our 
admiration. 

Perhaps  a  few  entries  taken  at  random  from  my  journal 
will  serve  as  well  as  anything  to  give  some  idea  of  our  life 
and  the  conditions  under  which  we  worked. 

Notes  at  Mericourt 
"Tuesday,  March  14.  After  a  rat-disturbed  night,  got 
away  on  Route  No.  3  to  Proyart  and  Baraquette,  evacu- 

132 


If 

^ 

^^^^^^^^^ 

■5 

\3m 

^^^^Otei 

bSI 

p9 

^^^ 

^^^^^^K 

^   ""im^gM 

.j» 

JH^I 

^-'^  '  '■^^'^*^^ 

1    '^•'^-« 

ffw 

1-    -l 

f'%..jMr'^'^^ 

91 

.-.^^.".-HBBB 

^^K^M^ 

■jbi 

ingl 

v'^an^i^^B 

■^^^1 

B^^ 

Bh 

ijxjDY   AND   SILENT,    BUT   NOT   DEFEATED" 


1     ^ '^ 

K  - 

-  ■■%— . 

••^'^^. 

•i^ 

1^. 

THE  "POSTE   DE    SElULKS"   AT   CAPPV,   THE   SOMME,   191G 


SECTION  ONE 


ating  to  Cerlsy.  At  four  this  afternoon,  with  Brooke  as 
orderly,  made  same  route,  evacuating  to  Villers-Breton- 
neux.  There  were  so  many  blesses  that  I  had  to  return  to 
Baraquette  for  another  load.  We  are  just  in  from  Villers- 
Bretonneux  at  lo  p.m.  after  a  drive  through  the  rain. 

''Saturday,  March  i8.  On  route  No.  2  to  Chuignolles. 
Road  was  under  fire,  so  sentry  refused  to  let  me  return 
over  it,  as  the  way  was  up-grade  and  with  a  loaded  car  I 
could  not  go  fast.  Ran  down  it  this  afternoon,  evacuat- 
ing by  another  route.  Put  in  an  hour  to-day  making 
an  almost  bedstead  out  of  old  bloody  stretchers  and  now 
the  rats  will  have  to  jump  a  foot  or  so  off  the  floor  if  they 
want  to  continue  to  use  me  as  a  speedway. 

"  Thursday,  March  23.  Slept  well  in  the  car  at  Cappy, 
but  lost  all  inclination  for  breakfast  on  opening  door  of 
stretcher-bearer's  room  and  seeing  two  bodies,  one  with 
its  jaws  shot  away,  the  other,  brought  in  from  No  Man's 
Land  —  half  eaten  by  rats.  Got  a  call  to  Chuignes  be- 
fore noon,  evacuating  to  Cerisy.  Of  course  worked  on  my 
car  this  afternoon ;  that  goes  without  saying  —  the  work, 
not  the  car.  To-morrow  we  have  another  one  of  those 
dashed  inspections,  this  time  the  General  commanding 
the  Division. 

''Thursday,  March  30.  To  Cappy  early,  with  as  many 
of  the  Squad  as  were  off  duty,  to  attend  the  funeral  of 
the  Medecin  Chef.  He  was  killed  yesterday  when  peering 
over  the  parapet.  It  was  a  sad  affair,  yet  withal  impres- 
sive. We  walked  from  the  little  shell-torn  town,  Cappy, 
to  the  cemetery  just  beyond  the  village,  following  the 
simple  flag-draped  box  upon  which  rested  the  tunic  and 
kepi;  and  then,  while  the  war  planes  circled  and  dipped 
above  us  and  all  around  the  guns  spoke,  we  paid  our  last 
respects  to  a  very  gallant  man.  Waited  till  ten  for 
wounded.  At  the  exact  minute  I  was  leaving,  three  shells 
came  in.  One  burst  by  the  church  and  the  other  two  just 
back  of  my  machine  as  I  crossed  the  bridge.  They  must 
have  come  from  a  small-bore  gun,  possibly  a  mortar,  as 
they  were  not  preceded  by  a  screech  as  with  a  rifle  shell. 

133 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Visited  regimental  dentist  this  afternoon  and  found  him 
operating  on  a  poilu  whose  teeth  had  been  knocked  out 
by  a  Boche  gun  butt  in  a  recent  charge.  To-night  the  guns 
are  going  strong. 

'^Wednesday,  April  5.  The  mess-room  presented  a 
ghastly  sight  this  morning,  a  hand-grenade  having  been 
accidentally  exploded  there  last  night,  blowing  two  men 
to  bits  which  bits  are  still  hanging  to  th^  walls.  Got  my 
spark-plugs  in  shape  this  morning.  This  afternoon  at- 
tempted to  take  a  nap,  but  a  confounded  battery  just 
stationed  here  insisted  on  going  into  action,  and  as  the 
shots  were  at  half-minute  intervals  I  got  to  counting  the 
seconds  in  the  intervals,  banishing  all  chances  of  sleep. 
Two  of  the  Squad  are  down  with  the  gale  —  a  skin  dis- 
ease contracted  from  the  blesses,  and  which  seems  almost 
epidemic  with  the  Division." 

Amiens  —  The  British  Headquarters 

It  was  toward  the  end  of  March,  and  hence  some  three 
months  after  leaving  Paris,  that  one  morning  I  received 
orders  to  evacuate  a  load  of  wounded  to  the  railroad  hos- 
pital at  Amiens,  some  forty  kilometres  from  Mericourt. 
Amiens  is  a  modern  city,  one  of  the  most  pleasant  in 
France,  a  city  of  about  one  hundred  thousand  inhabitants 
with  up-to-date  shops,  tramways,  tea-rooms,  and  a  de- 
cided air  of  gayety.  As  I  drove  my  mud-spattered  ambu- 
lance down  its  main  street  I  felt  singularly  out  of  place. 
An  hour  and  a  half  before  I  had  been  within  rifle  range 
of  the  German  trenches  where  men  were  battling  to  the 
death  and  big  guns  barked  their  hate,  and  now,  as 
though  transported  on  a  magic  carpet,  I  found  myself  in 
the  midst  of  peace,  where  dainty  women  tripped  by,  chil- 
dren laughed  at  play,  and  life  untrammelled  by  war  ran 
its  course.  After  the  weeks  amid  the  mud  and  turmoil  of 
the  front,  the  transition  was  at  first  stupefying.  After 
evacuating  my  wounded,  I  parked  my  car,  and  being  off 
duty  for  the  rest  of  the  day  I  strolled  about  gaping  like  a 
countryman.  A  "burst"  at  the  best  restaurant  I  could 

134 


SECTION  ONE 


find  and  a  good  cigar  put  me  in  an  appreciative  frame  of 
mind  and  my  impression  of  Amiens  will  always  remain 
the  most  favorable.  Though  the  city  had  been  in  the 
hands  of  the  Huns  for  nearly  a  fortnight  in  the  early 
part  of  the  war,  and  had  several  times  been  the  object  of 
air  raids,  there  was  little  indication  of  either.  The  beau- 
tiful cathedral  was  piled  high  with  sandbags  and  the 
beautiful  windows  were  screened  as  precaution  against 
bomb  eclats,  but  of  the  precautions  such  as  I  later  saw 
in  Bar-le-Duc,  there  were  none. 

Amiens  at  this  time  was  the  administrative  Head- 
quarters of  the  English  Army  of  the  Somme.  Its  streets 
were  alive  with  English  officers  and  Tommies.  There 
were  many  *' Jocks"  in  their  kilties,  besides,  of  course, 
many  French  officers.  Being  well  back  of  the  lines  it  was 
a  great  place  for  swanking,  a  condition  of  which  the 
English  officers  especially  took  full  advantage,  and  in 
their  whipcords  and  shining  Sam  Brownes,  they  were  the 
last  word  in  military  sartorialism. 

Permission 

Having  now  been  at  the  front  for  three  months  I  became 
entitled  to  la  permission,  the  six  days'  leave,  in  theory 
granted  the  soldier  once  every  three  months.  George's 
permission  was  also  due,  and  we  managed  to  arrange  it  so 
that  we  secured  leave  simultaneously.  One  of  our  cars 
was  so  well  wrecked  that  it  had  to  be  sent  to  Paris,  and 
accordingly  we  secured  the  assignment  of  taking  this  in. 
This  car  had  lost  its  mud-guards  and  part  of  the  top  of 
the  driving-seat;  its  lockers  were  gone  and  its  sides  had 
been  pierced  by  shell  splinters.  It  certainly  looked  as  if 
"it  had  been  through  the  war."  It  was  afterwards  sent 
to  New  York  and  there  put  on  exhibition  at  the  Allied 
Bazaar. 

We  set  out  for  Paris  on  the  morning  of  April  15.  It  was 
a  fearful  day  for  driving,  hail  and  rain  and  a  piercing  wind, 
but  we  were  en  permission,  so  what  cared  we.  It  was  on 
this  voyage  that,  for  the  first  and  only  time  during  my 

135 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


service  in  the  Army,  I  saw  lancers.  This  group  was  some 
seventy  kilometres  back  of  the  line.  With  their  burnished 
casques,  graceful  weapons,  and  fluttering  pennons  they 
have  left  me  one  of  the  few  memories  of  the  picturesque 
which  the  war  has  furnished. 

We  made  Beauvais  in  time  for  luncheon;  found  the 
little  restaurant,  and  our  mere  appearance  was  sufficient 
to  set  the  little  waitress  off  into  a  severe  attack  of  giggles. 
By  four  that  afternoon  we  were  in  Paris.  After  one  hun- 
dred days  in  the  war  zone,  it  seemed  like  another  world. 
W^e  took  the  military  oath  not  to  reveal  information  likely 
to  be  of  value  to  the  enemy  and  were  free  to  do  what  we 
liked  for  six  days.  Personally,  as  I  remember  it,  I  pretty 
well  divided  the  time  between  taking  hot  baths  and  con- 
suming unlimited  quantities  of  white  bread  and  fresh 
butter.  Often  we  found  ourselves  subconsciously  listening 
and  missing  something,  —  the  rumble  of  the  guns.  W^e  en- 
joyed the  respite,  but  the  end  of  our  permission  found  us 
willing,  almost  eager,  to  get  back  ''out  there.*' 

It  was  after  midnight  —  Easter  morning  —  and  the 
rain  was  falling  when  we  ploughed  our  muddy  way  across 
"the  campus"  at  Mericourt.  It  was  cold,  and  the  rat- 
infested  garret,  in  the  flickering  light  of  an  oil  lamp, 
looked  dismal  enough  as  we  felt  our  way  across  its  dirty 
floor.  Outside  the  sky  was  now  and  then  lighted  by  a  flare 
and  from  all  around  came  the  boom  of  the  guns.  We  were 
home. 

Spring  and  Hectic  Days 

May  opened  with  delightfully  warm  weather,  a  condition 
that  was  not  to  continue.  The  brown  fields  were  clothed 
in  green.  Up  to  within  a  few  kilometres  of  the  line  the 
land  had  been  cultivated,  and  wheat  and  oats  flourished 
as  though  shells  were  not  passing  over  and  the  grim 
Reaper  himself  were  not  ever  present. 

Early  in  the  month  our  Division  moved,  going  into 
repos  some  fifteen  kilometres  back  of  the  line.  It  is  a 
simple  statement — "our  Division  moved."  But  think 

136 


SECTION  ONE 


of  twenty  thousand  men  plodding  along,  twenty  thou- 
sand brown  guns  bobbing  and  twenty  thousand  bayonets 
flopping  against  as  many  hips.  Think  of  twenty  thousand 
blue  steel  helmets  covering  as  many  sweaty,  dusty  heads; 
think  of  the  transport  for  the  men,  the  horses  straining 
in  their  traces,  the  creaking  wagons,  the  rumbling  artil- 
lery, the  clanging  soup-wagons,  the  whizzing  staff  cars, 
and  the  honking  of  camion  horns  —  think  of  this  and  you 
have  some  idea  of  what  is  embraced  in  the  statement 
**our  Division  moved."  We  did  not  follow  them,  though 
we  did  assign  four  cars  to  serv^e  them  during  repos,  and 
to  take  care  of  the  sick.  Instead  we  were  attached  to  the 
incoming  Division,  the  2d  Colonials. 

My  journal  shows  there  were  some  hectic  days  in  May. 
In  the  record  of  May  2  I  find:  ''Rolled  pretty  much  all 
night,  one  call  taking  me  to  Eclusier.  The  road  was  shelled 
behind  me  while  I  was  at  the  poste,  knocking  a  tree  across 
the  way  so  that  on  my  way  back,  the  night  being  so  dark, 
I  could  see  absolutely  nothing  and  I  hit  the  tree  and  bent 
a  guard.  It's  as  nasty  a  run  as  I  have  ever  made,  a  canal 
on  one  side,  batteries  on  the  other,  and  the  whole  way 
exposed  to  machine-gun-fire.  Expected  to  be  relieved  here 
this  morning,  but  one  of  the  replacement  cars  is  out  of 
commission  so  that  I  am  on  for  another  twenty-four  hours. 
To-day  I  measured  the  distance  from  where  I  was  sitting 
last  night  to  where  the  shell  hit.  It  was  exactly  fourteen 
paces." 

Again  a  week  later:  ''Two  cars  out  of  commission,  so 
I  am  fated  for  another  forty-eight  hours'  shift  here  in 
Cappy.  Last  night  was  uneventful.  To-day  we  have  been 
bombarded  five  times.  So  far  have  made  but  two  runs, 
returning  from  second  under  fire.  We  have  been  ordered 
to  sleep  to-night  in  the  partially  completed  dugout,  so  I 
am  writing  this  fifteen  feet  underground,  with  sandbags 
piled  high  above  my  head.  Verily  the  day  of  the  cave  man 
has  returned.  Now  for  the  blanket  and,  thanks  to  the 
dugout,  a  reasonable  assurance  of  greeting  to-morrow's 
sun." 


^37 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


It  was  in  May  that  "Josh"  won  his  recognition  for 
bringing  in  his  wounded  from  Eclusier  under  machine- 
gun- fire.  I  was  not  there,  but  I  know  he  could  not  have 
been  cooler  had  he  been  driving  down  Broadway. 

Leaving  Mericourt 

On  the  30th  of  May  we  received  orders  to  change  our 
base.  The  Squad  was  genuinely  sorry  to  leave  Mericourt. 
The  village,  which  had  looked  so  forbidding  to  us  when 
we  had  first  arrived,  through  the  familiarity  of  three 
months'  residence  had  grown  to  mean  home.  The  peace- 
ful canal  with  its  graceful  poplars  where  we  used  to  swim, 
"the  campus,"  the  scene  on  moonlight  nights  of  many  a 
rousing  chorus,  the  lane  where  the  cars  were  parked,  the 
little  cafe,  all  held  pleasant  memories.  Here  we  had  en- 
dured the  rigors  of  winter,  had  seen  the  coming  and 
passing  of  spring,  and  now  as  summer  was  upon  us  we 
were  leaving. 

We  left  in  fleet,  about  one  in  the  afternoon,  and  an 
hour  later  drew  up  in  the  village  of  Bayonvillers  on  the 
farther  side  of  the  Route  Nationale.  We  found  it  an 
attractive  place,  having  two  squares  well  shaded  with 
fine  trees.  In  peace  times  its  population  probably  num- 
bered about  four  thousand.  The  town  was  far  enough 
back  of  the  line  to  be  out  of  range  of  field  artillery  and 
showed  no  sign  of  bombardment.  Being  only  slightly  off 
the  main  road  and  about  midway  between  the  line  and 
Villers-Bretonneux,  the  location  was  a  convenient  one  for 
us,  as  for  the  present  we  were  maintaining  the  same  sched- 
ules and  routes  which  prevailed  at  Mericourt.  W^e  were  as- 
signed quarters  in  the  loft  of  a  brick  barn,  but  some  of  us 
preferred  more  airy  surroundings  and  pitched  a  tent  under 
the  trees  in  a  little  park  in  the  centre  of  the  town,  thus 
establishing  the  "Bayonvillers  Country  Club."  Later, 
because  of  the  arrival  of  a  fleet  of  camions,  we  moved  the 
club  to  a  meadow  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town.  Mess  was 
also  established  in  a  tent. 


138 


SECTION  ONE 


Preparing  the  Somme  Offensive 

Early  in  the  spring  it  had  become  apparent  that  some- 
thing was  in  the  air.  Ammunition  depots  began  to  appear, 
placed  just  out  of  gun  range;  genie  pares,  with  enormous 
quantities  of  barbed  wire,  trench-flooring,  and  other  con- 
struction materials  were  established;  a  new  road  w^as 
being  built  from  Bray  to  Cappy;  additional  aviation 
fields  were  laid  out,  and  rows  of  hangars,  elaborately 
painted  to  represent  barns  and  ploughed  fields,  to  deceive 
the  enemy  airmen,  reared  their  bulky  forms.  Back  of  the 
line  numerous  tent  hospitals  sprang  into  being.  Near 
Cappy  immense  siege  guns,  served  by  miniature  railways, 
poked  their  ugly  noses  through  concealing  brush  screens. 
Through  the  fields  several  new  standard-gauge  tracks 
made  their  way.  The  roads  back  of  any  army  are  always 
cluttered  with  supporting  traffic,  and  as  the  spring  wore 
on  the  traffic  in  the  Somme  increased  day  by  day.  There 
were  huge  five-ton  camions  loaded  with  shells,  steam 
tractors  bringing  up  big  guns,  caterpillar  batteries,  ar- 
mored cars,  mobile  anti-aircraft  guns,  stone  boats,  mobile 
soup-kitchens,  oxygen  containers  to  combat  poison  gas, 
field  artillery,  searchlight  sections,  staff  cars,  telegraph 
and  telephone  wagons,  long  lines  of  motor  busses  now 
used  as  meal  vans,  horse  wagons  piled  high  with  bread, 
portable  forges,  mule  trains  carrying  machine-gun  ammu- 
nition, two-wheeled  carts  carrying  trench  mortars.  All 
the  transport  of  war  was  there  until  by  the  first  of  June 
the  roads  back  of  the  Somme  front  presented  a  congestion 
of  traffic  such  as  the  world  has  never  before  seen.  To  the 
most  casual  observer  it  could  not  but  be  apparent  that 
all  this  tremendous  activity,  the  enormous  supplies,  the 
preparations,  were  not  solely  for  defensive  purposes.  It 
could  connote  but  one  thing  —  an  offensive  on  a  great 
scale. 

Directly  opposite  Cappy,  within  the  German  lines,  lay 
the  little  shell-riddled  village  of  Dompierre.  Between  the 
sandbags  of  the  first-line  trench  I  had  peeped  forth  at  it, 

139 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


and  as  early  as  April  I  knew  that  the  village  was  mined, 
for  the  electrician  who  wired  the  mine  was  a  friend.  I  felt 
sure,  therefore,  that  our  Section  was  to  be  in  the  offensive 
when  it  came.  But  as  to  the  day  of  the  attack,  of  course 
that  was  a  matter  of  speculation.  As  the  days  wore  on  all 
the  talk  was  of  "the  attack."  There  was  no  longer  any 
doubt  as  to  the  fact  that  an  attack  was  to  be  launched ; 
the  question  now  was,  simply,  when?  Both  the  firing  and 
activity  in  the  air  had  increased.  Sometimes  for  hours  at 
a  time  there  would  be  continuous  drum-fire  and  scarcely 
an  hour  passed  without  a  fight  between  planes. 

The  opening  days  of  June  were  wet  and  sodden.  The 
weather  was  raw,  almost  cold,  with  frequent  hailstorms, 
so  that  it  was  difficult  to  determine  just  what  season  was 
being  observed.  The  roads,  trodden  by  thousands  of 
hobbed  feet  and  cut  by  horses'  hoofs  and  by  tires,  were 
deep  with  mud.  It  was  sale  temps.  We  found  Bayonvillers 
teeming  with  troops.  But  if  we  thought  the  place  already 
croAvded,  it  was  nothing  compared  to  the  congestion 
which  the  succeeding  days  brought.  Day  by  day,  almost 
hour  by  hour,  the  troops  continued  to  come  in,  colonials, 
chasseurs,  the  famous  zouaves,  the  Senegalese;  and  the 
sound  of  drum  and  bugle  scarcely  ever  died. 

Senegalese 

The  Senegalese  were  an  amusing  lot.  I  have  been  in 
Senegal,  and  when  in  the  Congo,  had  a  Senegalese  for  a 
headman,  so  I  know  a  few  words  of  their  language.  When 
I  hailed  them  in  this,  they  would  immediately  freeze  into 
ebony  statues,  then  their  white  teeth  w^ould  flash  in  a 
dazzling  smile  as  they  hailed  m^e  as  a  w^hite  chief  who 
knew  their  home.  They  were  armed  with  deadly  bush- 
knives,  and  for  a  dash  over  the  top  made  splendid  sol- 
diers. In  the  trenches,  however,  they  were  nearly  useless, 
as  artillery  fire  put  fear  into  their  souls.  It  was  said  they 
never  took  or  were  taken  prisoners,  and  many  gruesome 
tales  were  current  regarding  this.  Most  certainly  they 
must  have  been  useful  in  night  manoeuvres,  for  with  that 

140 


SECTION  ONE 


complexion  it  would  be  a  matter  of  impossibility  to  deter- 
mine which  was  the  Senegalese  and  which  was  the  night. 
The  lot  upon  which  the  "Country  Club"  had  been 
the  original  and  only  squatter  began  to  fill.  A  "  155"  bat- 
tery moved  in  alongside  us,  and  several  "75"  batteries 
with  their  ammunition  transports  became  our  neighbors ; 
some  horse  transport  convoys  also  creaked  their  way  in. 
Horses  by  the  hundred  plunged  and  pulled  at  restrain- 
ing ropes  or  stood  with  downcast  heads  —  bone- weary 
of  the  struggle.  All  around  us  rose  the  little  brown  dog- 
tents  and  at  night  countless  small  fires  flickered.  It  was 
like  camping  in  the  midst  of  a  three-ring  circus. 

The  Waiting 

We  mingled  with  our  neighbors  and  talked  with  them, 
but  no  matter  how  the  conversation  started,  it  was  sure 
to  come  around  to  the  one,  great,  all-important  subject  — 
the  attack.  Even  for  us,  who  were  not  to  be  "sent  in," 
but  whose  duty  it  would  be  merely  to  carry  those  who 
had  been,  the  delay  and  suspense  were  trying.  How  much 
worse,  then,  it  must  have  been  for  those  men  who  "were 
going  over  the  top,"  waiting,  waiting,  many  of  them  for 
their  chance  to  greet  death.  I  remember  one  afternoon 
talking  with  a  chap  who  before  the  war  had  kept  a  restau- 
rant in  Prince's  Street  in  Edinburgh,  a  restaurant  at 
which  I  remember  having  dined.  He  was  an  odd  little 
Frenchman,  alert  and  bright-eyed,  and  every  now  and 
then  as  he  talked  he  would  pat  me  on  the  shoulder  and 
exclaim,  "Oh,  my  boy."  He  assured  me  that  very  soon 
now  we  should  see  the  attack.  "Oh,  my  boy,  the  world 
very  soon  will  talk  of  this  place.  You  will  see  the  name 
of  this  village  on  maps"  —  a  true  prophecy,  for  when 
the  New  York  papers  came  to  us  weeks  after  the  attack 
had  started,  I  saw  a  map  with  Cappy  marked  upon  it. 
"Soon  greater  than  Verdun  we  shall  see  great  things, 
and  oh,  my  boy,  we  are  here  to  see  them ;  we  are  part  of 
them.  Cest  magnifique!  but  the  waiting,  the  waiting;  why 
can't  they  end  it?  Send  us  in!  Quant  d  inoi  —  I  go  with 

141 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


the  second  wave,  and  if  I  come  out  aprh  la  guerre,  you 
will  come  to  my  place,  my  place  in  Prince's  Street  which 
you  know,  and  for  you  I  will  open  the  finest  champagne 
of  la  belle  France  and  we  will  raise  our  glasses  and  drink 
to  these  days;  but  oh,  my  boy,  the  waiting,  c'est  terrible!'' 

My  journal  for  these  days  reflects  the  feeling  of  sus- 
pense: "  Tuesday,  June  13.  Eji  repos  to-day  for  which  I  was 
thankful,  since  the  rain  still  continues,  with  a  low  tem- 
perature. Spent  most  of  the  day  in  my  bag  reading,  as 
being  about  the  only  place  I  could  keep  warm.  The  20th 
zouaves  marched  into  town  to-day,  their  bugles  playing. 
Their  arrival  and  the  presence  of  the  Senegalese  can 
mean  but  one  thing:  the  attack  will  soon  be  launched. 
Well,  if  it's  coming  it  can't  come  too  soon.  This  suspense 
is  trying.  If  this  weather  continues  I  will  have  trench 
foot  again,  as  my  shoes  are  leaking.  Firing  has  been  un- 
usually heavy  to-day,  and  to-night  a  terrific  bombard- 
ment is  in  progress. 

''Thursday,  June  15.  Encore  this  ghastly  weather. 
More  Senegalese  coming  in  until  the  place  looks  like  a 
Georgia  camp-meeting.  Three  runs  to-day ;  slow  progress 
working  through  the  traffic.  Surely  attack  cannot  be  far 
off.  Passed  wreck  of  plane  near  Villers-Bretonneux  which 
was  fired  on,  falling  and  burning  to  death  both  pilot  and 
driver. 

'^  Sunday,  June  18.  To  Fontaine  les  Gappy,  which  inci- 
dentally was  being  shelled,  evacuating  to  Villers-Breton- 
neux. Changed  rear  spring  on  my  'bus  this  afternoon, 
other  having  proved  too  light.  Have  fixed  some  hooks 
and  straps  on  the  car  so  that  I  can  carry  blanket  roll 
and  dunnage  bag  in  event  the  line  breaks  and  we  follow 
the  advance.  'New  Number  Nine'  is  ready  for  attack. 
Rumor  says  it  will  start  in  three  days.  Now  that  the 
clock  has  been  set  ahead  —  this  occurred  several  days 
ago  —  w^e  turn  in  by  daylight." 

Dry,  hot  weather  succeeded  the  rains  and  in  a  day  the 
mud  of  the  roads  had  been  beaten  into  dust.  A  khaki- 
colored  fog  hung  over  the  sinuous  line  of  never-ceasing 

142 


SECTION  ONE 


traffic  and  choked  man  and  beast.  It  was  trying  work 
driving  now  but  still  it  was  exhilarating,  the  feeling  of 
being  a  part  of  a  great  push.  By  the  middle  of  June  the 
advance  position  from  which  we  should  operate  from  the 
time  the  first  wave  went  over  the  top  had  been  chosen. 
It  was  close  back  of  the  line  near  the  boyau  of  Fontaine 
les  Cappy.  It  was  very  much  exposed  and  much  in  ad- 
vance of  the  position  usually  taken  by  transport  sections, 
but  it  appeared  the  spot  of  greatest  usefulness  and  this 
being  determined,  our  CO.  was  not  the  man  to  question 
further. 

Bitter  Disappointment 

On  the  morning  of  June  20  I  left  for  duty  at  Cappy. 
My  journal  for  that  date  reads:  "Left  quarters  at  eight 
this  morning,  reaching  Cappy  an  hour  later,  taking  on 
a  load,  evacuating  at  once  to  Villers-Bretonneux.  This 
afternoon  evacuated  to  Chuignolles.  So  far  I  have  heard 
but  one  shell  come  in  to-day.  Our  batteries,  too,  have 
been  singularly  quiet.  The  calm  before  the  storm.  If  pos- 
sible, the  roads  to-day  were  more  congested  than  ever 
with  every  sort  of  vehicle  from  bicycle  to  steam  tractor. 
It's  now  nine  o'clock,  though  owing  to  change  of  time 
not  nearly  dark.  Am  a  bit  tired  to-night,  but  have  small 
idea  of  getting  much  rest." 

Nor  was  I  disappointed,  for  throughout  the  night  the 
wounded  came  in  and  we  drove  almost  without  pause. 
From  my  last  evacuation  I  got  back  to  Cappy  about  six 
in  the  morning,  and  as  our  relief  was  due  at  eight  I  did 
not  consider  it  worth  while  to  turn  in.  The  day  promised 
to  be  hot  and  clear.  Already  the  shelling  had  started.  It 
was  a  point  of  honor  among  the  Squad  to  be  prompt  in 
our  relief,  and  Gile  and  I  were  therefore  surprised  when 
no  cars  had  appeared  by  8.30.  It  was  about  ten  o'clock 
and  we  had  exhausted  our  conjectures  when  two  cars  of 
a  French  Section  rolled  up.  We  sensed  at  once  that  some- 
thing had  happened.  One  of  the  drivers  climbed  down 
from  his  car  and  came  over  to  where  we  were  standing. 

143 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


We  exchanged  salutes.  '^Messieurs,''  he  said,  ''your  Sec- 
tion has  been  replaced  by  ours.  I  am  directed  to  instruct 
you  to  report  at  once  at  your  quarters."  The  concussion 
from  a  ''210"  could  scarcely  have  stunned  us  more  than 
the  announcement,  ''Replaced."  It  was  impossible;  there 
must  be  some  mistake.  After  all  our  months  of  work, 
which  we  knew  had  been  efficient,  after  all  our  prepara- 
tions for  the  attack.  Replaced?  No,  it  could  not  be.  We 
w^ould  find  out  there  had  been  a  misunderstanding.  In  a 
daze  we  cranked  our  cars  and  drove  slowly  away  from 
the  familiar  old  poste. 

Several  shells  had  passed  us  as  we  had  stood  talking, 
and  as  I  reached  the  canal  bridge  I  found  one  had  hit 
there.  Beside  the  road  lay  a  dead  man,  and  three  wounded 
were  being  dressed.  I  got  out  my  stretchers  and  evacuated 
them  to  the  field  hospital  at  Cerisy.  It  was  my  last  evacu- 
ation from  Cappy.  I  reached  quarters  about  noon,  find- 
ing the  Squad  at  mess.  One  glance  at  the  fellows  con- 
firmed the  morning's  news.  I  have  seldom  seen  a  more 
thoroughly  disgusted  bunch  of  men.  It  was  true;  we  had 
been  replaced  and  were  leaving  for  parts  unknown  to- 
morrow. Somewhere  back  in  Automobile  Headquarters 
in  Paris  a  wire  had  been  pulled,  and  that  wire  attached 
to  us  was  to  pull  us  away  from  the  greatest  offensive  in 
history.  We  felt  rather  bitter  about  it  at  first,  for  we  felt 
that  in  a  way  it  reflected  on  our  ability  or  even  our  nerve, 
but  when  we  learned  that  the  Medecin  Divisionnaire  and 
even  the  General  of  our  Division  had  protested  against 
our  removal,  had  spoken  of  our  work  in  the  highest 
terms,  our  disappointment  was  softened,  and  so  with 
the  philosophy  which  army  life  brings  we  said,  *'Cest  la 
guerre,"  struck  our  tents  and  prepared  for  the  morrow's 
departure. 

The  Voie  Sacree 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  aspect  of  Bar-le-Duc  in 
normal  times,  now  it  impressed  me  as  a  city  utterly 
weary,  a  city  sapped  of  vitality.  As  a  weary  man,  ex- 

144 


SECTION  ONE 


hausted  by  constant  strain  and  tension  to  a  condition 
of  listless  indifference  —  thus  did  Bar-le-Duc  impress 
me.  And  well  might  it  be  weary.  For  months  troops  had 
poured  through  its  streets,  men  of  a  score  of  races,  men 
from  far  countries  and  from  the  heart  of  France.  Here 
they  had  passed  on  their  way  to  the  Vortex,  and  through 
these  streets  the  bleeding  wrecks  of  the  same  men  had 
been  borne  back.  Day  and  night  without  ceasing  the 
munition  camions  had  rumbled  by.  While  winter  ended, 
spring  came  and  passed,  and  summer  blossomed,  the 
thundering  guns  had  not  ceased  to  sound.  For  five  months 
this  unrelenting  strain  had  endured  and  Bar-le-Duc  was 
like  a  weary  soul. 

It  was  close  to  midnight,  and  ''dark  as  the  inside  of  a 
cow,"  when  the  camp  was  startled  into  wakefulness  by 
the  cry,  ''Show  a  leg!  Everybody  out,  we're  called!" 
Outside  the  rain  beat  against  the  cars  and  a  mournful 
wind  slapped  the  branches  overhead.  It  was  a  painful 
transition  from  the  warm  comfort  of  the  blankets  to  the 
raw  chill  of  the  night,  but  no  one  hesitated.  Lanterns 
began  to  flicker ;  figures  struggling  into  tunic  and  knickers 
tumbled  out  of  cars;  objects  were  pulled  forth  and  piled 
on  the  ground,  bedding  was  thrown  under  ground-sheets; 
stretchers  shot  into  places;  engines  began  to  cough  and 
snort,  and  searchlights  pierced  the  night.  The  CO.,  mov- 
ing from  car  to  car,  issued  the  order,  "In  convoy  order; 
gas-masks  and  helmets;  head-lights  till  further  orders." 
In  twenty  minutes  after  the  first  call,  every  car  was 
ready,  every  man  in  his  place,  and  the  convoy  formed. 
"Where  are  we  going?"  was  the  inquiry  which  shot  from 
car  to  car,  and,  though  no  one  knew,  the  answer  was  in- 
variably "Verdun." 

Presently  the  whistle  blew  and  we  moved  out.  Down 
through  the  sleeping  city  of  Bar-le-Duc  we  went,  and 
there,  where  the  transparency  blazoned  the  legend,  "\'er- 
dun,"  we  obeyed  the  silent  injunction  of  the  pointing 
arrow  and  turned  to  the  left.  We  passed  through  the  out- 
skirts of  the  city  and  presently  entered  upon  a  broad, 

145 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


pitted  road.  Well  might  the  road  be  pitted,  for  there  was 
the  Vote  Sacree  —  the  Sacred  Way  —  over  which  had 
passed  every  division  of  the  French  Army,  the  way  over 
which  thousands  of  the  men  of  France  had  passed  never 
to  return. 

Beyond  question  one  reason  why  Verdun  was  chosen 
by  the  Germans  as  the  point  against  which  their  great 
offensive  was  launched  was  the  weakness  of  the  support- 
ing railroad  facilities.  Normally  the  city  is  served  by  two 
lines  of  railways,  one  running  north  from  Saint-Mihiel, 
the  other  coming  in  from  the  west  by  Sainte-Menehould. 
Since  Saint-Mihiel  was  in  their  hands,  the  first  road  was 
eliminated,  and  though  the  second  was  not  in  the  enemy's 
hands,  it  was  commanded  by  his  batteries.  This  left  the 
position  of  Verdun  without  supporting  railroads,  hereto- 
fore considered  necessary  for  maintaining  an  army.  But 
the  Hun  had  reckoned  without  two  things,  the  wonderful 
organization  of  the  French  motor  transport,  and  the  Voie 
Sacree.  Never  had  a  road  been  called  upon  to  bear  the 
burdens  which  now  were  thrown  upon  this  way.  An 
armada  of  ten  thousand  motor  camions  was  launched, 
and  day  and  night  in  two  unbroken  lines  this  fleet  held 
its  course  and  served  the  defending  armies  of  Verdun. 

Now  we,  too,  passed  down  the  road,  privileged  to  be- 
come part  of  that  support. 

A  half-moon,  blood-red  as  though  it,  too,  had  taken  on 
the  hue  of  war,  appeared  in  the  broken  sky,  described  a 
half  arc  and  disappeared.  Once  a  tremendous  light  illu- 
minated the  whole  northern  sky.  Possibly  it  was  the  ex- 
plosion of  a  mine.  We  never  knew  what.  The  noise  of  the 
guns  grew  louder  as  we  went  on.  The  gray  fore- tone  of 
dawn  was  streaking  the  east  when  we  halted  by  a  group 
of  tents  at  the  roadside.  We  were  beyond  Lemmes,  some 
one  said,  but  this  meant  nothing  to  us.  It  was  a  field  hos- 
pital and  here  we  found  our  men,  a  hundred  of  them. 
They  were  all  gas  victims  as  their  wracking,  painful 
coughs  indicated. 

The  rain  had  ceased.  The  sun  rose  and  warmed  things 

146 


SECTION  ONE 


a  bit.  It  was  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  and  Bar-le-Duc 
was  beginning  to  stir  itself  for  another  weary  day  as  we 
reached  the  evacuation  hospital.  Three  quarters  of  an 
hour  later  we  straggled  into  Veel,  having  covered  over  a 
hundred  kilometres  since  midnight. 

After  the  hard  rolling  of  the  last  few  days  there  was 
much  to  be  done  about  the  cars.  Bolts  needed  tightening, 
grease-cups  had  to  be  filled,  and  many  minor  repairs  were 
to  be  made.  This  consumed  most  of  the  day  and  with  only 
a  couple  of  hours'  sleep  to  our  credit  from  the  night  before 
we  were  genuinely  tired  when  we  rolled  into  our  blankets 
that  night  and  fervently  hoped  for  an  undisturbed  rest. 

But  such  was  not  to  be  our  fortune.  At  2.30  in  the 
morning  it  came  —  the  call.  In  the  gray  of  dawn  we 
wound  through  Bar-le-Duc.  In  the  doorways  and  on 
street  benches  we  could  just  discern  the  motionless  forms 
of  soldiers  wrapped  in  chilly  slumber.  Once  more  we 
turned  out  upon  the  Sacred  Way.  Our  destination  was 
the  village  of  Dugny,  of  which  I  shall  have  more  to  say 
later,  —  perhaps  seven  kilometres  from  Verdun.  A  blow- 
out just  beyond  Bar-le-Duc  lost  me  the  convoy,  which  in 
turn  lost  me  the  road,  and  I  wandered  through  a  series 
of  half-demolished  villages,  not  knowing  how  near  I 
might  be  to  the  line,  before  I  finally  again  emerged  on  the 
Voie  Sacree  and  reached  Dugny.  Here  I  was  surprised  to 
see  another  section  of  the  American  Ambulance.  It  proved 
to  be  Section  Eight  which  we  were  shortly  to  replace. 

We  found  the  driving  station  at  Dugny  overflowing 
with  wounded  and  the  men  placed  in  rows  on  straw  in  a 
stable.  Again  we  filled  our  cars,  this  time  mostly  with 
couches,  as  before  gas  victims.  It  was  now  broad  daylight. 
The  roadway  even  at  night  was  a  mass  of  trafhc,  mostly 
convoys  of  heavy  camions.  These  followed  each  other  in 
an  endless  belt,  the  loaded  ones  coming  toward  Verdun, 
the  unloaded  going  away.  They  proceeded  at  an  average 
speed  of  eighteen  kilometres  an  hour  at  a  distance  of  sixty 
feet  from  each  other.  It  became  necessary  for  us,  if  we 
were  to  make  any  progress  at  all,  to  squirm  our  way 

147 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


through  the  maze,  continually  dodging  in  and  out  of  the 
convoys  to  avoid  staff  cars,  yet  always  working  by  the 
slower  moving  vehicles.  It  was  the  most  trying  kind  of 
driving  and  required  extreme  care  lest  our  cars  be  crushed 
beneath  the  giant  munition  trucks  or  lest  the  unforgiv- 
able sin  of  causing  a  block  be  committed.  It  was  dis-- 
heartening  to  work  by  a  convoy  of  eighty  camions,  dodg- 
ing in  and  out  to  avoid  cars  coming  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion, and  then  just  as  the  head  of  the  line  was  reached  to 
have  a  tire  go  bang.  It  is  such  happenings  that  try  the 
soul  of  the  amhulancier. 

Not  till  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  did  we  reach  Yeel, 
having  completed  the  evacuation,  and  get  our  first  meal 
of  the  day.  We  were  content  to  rest  the  remainder  of  the 
day  and  the  day  following,  doing  only  such  work  as  the 
cars  required,  and  w^e  were  very  glad  that  no  demand 
came  for  our  services.  On  the  third  morning  a  number 
of  us  secured  permission  to  go  into  Bar-le-Duc  in  the 
''chow"  camion.  We  had  just  completed  a  hot  bath  and 
were  making  for  a  patisserie  when  the  Lieutenant's  car 
came  up.  "Get  everybody  together!"  he  shouted;  ''we're 
leaving  for  Verdun  at  one  o'clock." 

At  camp  we  found  the  tents  already  struck  and  a  cold 
singe  lunch  awaiting  us.  Promptly  at  one  we  formed  in 
convoy  and  again  headed  for  the  Sacred  Way.  At  four 
o'clock  that  afternoon  we  reached  the  village  of  Dugny. 
This  was  the  28th  of  June.  The  trek  from  the  Somme  to 
Verdun  was  finished. 

Robert  Whitney  Imbrie  ^ 


^  Of  Washington,  D.C.;  George  Washington  and  Yale  Universities;  served 
in  Sections  One  and  Three,  191 5-1 7;  subsequently  with  U.S.  Army.  The 
above  extracts  are  from  his  book,  Behind  the  Wheel  of  a  War  Ambulance 
(McBride,  191 8). 


V 

DuGNY  —  The  Verdun  Front 

On  June  21,  191 6,  like  a  thunderbolt  out  of  a  clear  sky, 
came  the  order  from  General  Headquarters,  commanding 
the  Section  to  proceed  immediately  to  Verdun,  where  the 
great  battle  had  been  raging  constantly  since  February. 
\^^hen  Section  One  arrived  on  the  Meuse  the  Boches  were 
making  their  final  great  attempt  to  capture  Verdun  and 
the  inner  line  of  forts  —  Tavannes,  Saint-Michel  and 
Souville  —  as  well  as  the  city  itself.  The  roads  in  the 
vicinity  were  under  heavy  bombardment  and  gas  hung 
for  days  in  the  low  places,  all  of  which  added  to  the 
strenuousness  of  our  work. 

By  June  28  the  Section  was  quartered  at  Dugny,  a 
tumble-down  town  a  few  miles  south  of  Verdun,  where  we 
relieved  Section  Eight  on  the  right  bank  of  the  Meuse, 
the  pastes  being  located  at  Fort  de  Tavannes,  the  Caba- 
ret Rouge  and  the  Mardi-Gras  redoubt.  The  cantonment 
at  Dugny  left  much  to  be  desired.  The  sleeping  quarters 
for  the  entire  Section,  including  the  French  personnel, 
were  in  a  barn  loft,  beneath  which  horses  were  stabled. 
What  with  the  coming  and  going,  the  noise  from  the 
"Atelier  Club,"  as  the  poker  players  called  themselves, 
the  coughing  of  gas  victims,  frequently  placed  in  the 
entrance  of  the  barn,  and  many  other  disturbances,  the 
situation  was  not  conducive  to  rest.  Then,  too,  it  rained 
most  of  the  time,  except  when  it  drizzled,  and  mud  was 
not  among  the  things  which  the  place  lacked. 

Nor  at  the  poste  of  the  Cabaret  Rouge  could  conditions 
be  said  to  be  cheery.  The  festive  name  which  the  place 
bore  was  scarcely  justified.  It  was  a  stone  bam  with  a 
straw-covered  floor  and  a  leaky  roof,  the  walls  pierced  in 
three  places  with  shell  holes,  and  mud  ankle-deep  all 
around.  Then  there  were  the  wounded  who  were  stretched 

149 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


by  the  walls ;  and  the  air  was  heavy  with  the  smell  of  wet 
clothing,  disinfectants,  and  drying  blood.  In  the  only 
other  room  of  the  barn  were  the  dead  awaiting  burial,  their 
rigid  mangled  forms  lying  in  rows  on  hrayicards.  In  addi- 
tion the  poste  was  entirely  surrounded  by  batteries  whose 
din  was  unceasing,  and  furthermore  there  was  hardly  a 
minute  when  German  shells  were  not  coming  in. 

Although  there  was  not  a  man  in  the  squad  who  was  not 
repeatedly  under  fire  during  the  Section's  stay  at  Dugny, 
it  remained  for  Brooke  Edwards,  of  Philadelphia,  to  ex- 
perience the  most  remarkably  close  call.  While  en  route  at 
night  to  "Cabaret,"  a  shell  exploded  by  the  side  of  his  car, 
blowing  off  t^vo  tires,  the  eclats  passing  entirely  through 
both  sides  and  the  roof  of  the  car,  and  some  of  the  frag- 
ments lodging  within  six  inches  of  Edwards,  who  never- 
theless was  unscratched.  A  day  or  so  later,  when  Tingle 
Culbertson  was  pushing  along  the  Belleray  Road  in  his 
little  car,  he  heard  a  crash,  and  a  column  of  earth,  not 
twenty  yards  off  the  road,  spouted  into  the  air.  Two 
more  shells  came  in  quick  succession,  but  they  were,  so 
to  speak,  unneeded,  for  Culbertson  was  doing  all  that 
essence  and  an  intimate  knowledge  of  a  Ford  could  do  to 
make  ''  numero  douze''  exceed  any  previous  records. 

On  the  morning  of  July  12  the  Section  completed  its 
work  at  Verdun,  every  ambulance  having  served  up  to 
the  last  moment  to  the  limit  of  its  capacity.  Exceptional 
luck  had  followed  the  Section.  The  French  Section,  with 
w^hich  it  shared  the  work,  had  lost  two  men,  one  by  gas, 
another  by  shell-fire;  the  American  Section  which  pre- 
ceded us  had  had  one  man  wounded,  and  the  English 
Section,  up  to  the  time  when  we  left,  had  been  five  days 
in  the  field  with  the  loss  of  one  man. 

An  account  of  our  stay  at  Dugny  could  not  be  perfect 
without  mention  of  the  Section 's  Chef,  Herbert  ToAvnsend. 
Instead  of  remaining  out  of  the  zone  of  fire,  as  he  might 
have  done,  he  was  probably  under  fire  more  than  any 
other  member,  remaining  at  "Cabaret"  for  hours  at  a 
time,  putting  new  spirit  into  his  men  by  his  presence  and 

150 


SECTION  ONE 


giving  them  confidence  and  encouragement  when  they 
most  needed  it.  As  though  this  were  not  enough,  he  in- 
sisted on  accompanying  the  ambulances  on  their  most 
dangerous  run,  the  nightly  trip  to  Fort  de  Tavannes. 

Leaving  Verdun  —  Chateau  Billemont 

The  Section  left  the  Verdun  sector  on  July  13  and  went 
en  repos,  but  returned  there  on  August  15,  taking  up  its 
quarters  in  a  handsome  country  house  north  of  Dugny, 
known  as  Chateau  Billemont.  The  trip  to  the  poste  — 
Caserne  Marceau  —  though  it  could  scarcely  be  de- 
scribed as  enjoyable,  proved  very  interesting.  Leaving 
Billemont,  the  cars  ran  some  two  miles  over  excellent 
roads,  entering  Verdun  by  the  Porte  Neuve.  On  the 
right,  and  dominating  the  ruined  city,  lay  the  imposing 
citadel,  constructed  by  Vauban  for  Louis  XIV.  Farther 
on,  the  cars  passed  the  huge  shell- wrecked  market,  the 
slightly  damaged  theatre,  then  on  through  a  blackened, 
chaotic  mass  of  stone,  bricks,  and  twisted  steel,  past  the 
fine  old  gray  stone  tower  of  the  Pont  Chaussee.  Leaving 
the  city  by  the  Pont  Chaussee,  the  ambulances  followed 
the  Faubourg  Pav6  to  the  Fort  de  Souville  road,  where 
the  poste  was  located,  near  the  shattered  buildings  of  the 
Caserne  Marceau  and  a  wrecked  cistern  —  a  cement  tank 
mounted  on  a  tower  —  on  account  of  which  the  poste  was 
often  called  La  Citerne  and  considered  at  this  time  the 
most  important  one  on  the  Verdun  front. 

Verdun  again  —  Fleury 

The  German  trenches  were  just  across  the  ridge  from  La 
Citerne,  about  half  a  kilometre  distant,  where  the  battle 
of  Fleury  was  in  progress,  the  village  changing  hands 
some  ten  times  before  it  finally  remained  in  possession  of 
the  French.  Here  the  entire  Section  worked  almost  day 
and  night  for  about  three  weeks,  the  hardest  strain  it  had 
yet  been  under. 

On  September  9  the  Section  was   relieved,    having 
served  at  Caserne  Marceau  longer  than  any  preceding 

151 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


section.  Two  days  later  two  French  ambulances  were  de- 
stroyed at  this  poste  and  several  drivers  and  hrancardiers 
were  killed,  in  consequence  of  which  the  poste  was  aban- 
doned for  a  location  farther  back. 

On  account  of  the  service  rendered  at  Caserne  Marceau, 
Herbert  Townsend,  Giles  Francklyn,  Robert  Bowman, 
Brooke  Edwards,  and  James  M.  Sponagle,  and  the  Sec- 
tion as  a  whole,  received  citations. 

Leaving  the  Verdun  sector  on  September  1 1,  three  days 
were  spent  en  repos  at  Triaucourt,  when  we  moved  into 
the  Argonne,  being  quartered  at  La  Grange-aux-Bois, 
just  east  of  Sainte-Menehould.  The  w^ork  was  light 
and  without  special  incident  during  the  four  months 
there,  which,  with  the  beautiful  scenery,  furnished  a 
very  pleasing  contrast  to  our  experience  at  Verdun. 

The  Death  of  Howard  B.  Lines 

The  first  death  in  the  Section  occurred  during  this  period, 
when,  on  December  23,  1916,  Howard  B.  Lines,  of  Dart- 
mouth, succumbed  to  pneumonia.  The  funeral  took  place 
on  Christmas  morning.  A  Protestant  chaplain  of  the  divi- 
sion read  the  burial  service  in  the  open  entry  way  of  the 
house  where  Lines  had  died,  and  the  body  accompanied 
by  French  soldiers  and  the  members  of  the  Section,  and 
Inspector-General  Andrew,  and  Hon.  Robert  Bacon,  who 
had  come  from  Paris,  was  carried  to  the  snow-covered 
military  cemetery  on  a  neighboring  hill.  Young  Lines  was 
with  the  Section  in  Belgium  from  September,  19 15,  to 
January,  19 16,  when  he  returned  to  America  to  complete 
his  work  at  Harvard  Law  School;  he  had  rejoined  the 
Section  in  October,  191 6. 

On  January  19,  the  Section  left  La  Grange-aux-Bois 
for  Triaucourt  where  we  were  quartered  in  a  large  room 
on  the  lower  floor  of  a  hospital.  The  place  was  cheerless 
and  quite  cold.  Our  meals  were  served  in  an  old  stable 
several  blocks  distant.  We  soon  discovered  that  the  facil- 
ities for  recreation  and  amusement  in  Triaucourt  in  win- 
ter were  limited  in  the  extreme.  About  the  only  relief 

152 


FUNERAL  OF   HOWARD   LINES   AT  LA  GRANGE -AUX-BOIS 
CHRISTMAS  MORNING,  1916 


A   FOREST   IN   CHAMPAGNE 


SECTION  ONE 


from  continual  strolling  about  the  village  were  the  two  or 
three  little  cafes  where  a  few  of  the  hours  might  be  whiled 
away  and  the  canteen  conducted  by  some  English  women 
where  hot  coffee,  tea,  and  cocoa  were  serv^ed  free  and 
where  English  papers  might  be  read  in  comparative  com- 
fort. The  many  little  courtesies  shown  us  by  these  ladies 
will  be  long  remembered. 

Hill  304  -  Mort  Homme 

After  three  days  were  spent  en  repos  at  Triaucourt,  we 
went  into  the  Hill  304  -  Mort-Homme  sector,  with  pastes 
at  Esnes,  Montzeville,  the  Bois  de  Recicourt  and  the  Bois 
d'Esnes.  The  combination  of  extremely  cold  weather  and 
very  poor  quarters  at  Ippecourt  gave  the  section  another 
taste  of  the  hardships  of  war,  until,  two  weeks  later, 
better  quarters  were  found  at  Dombasle. 

Ippecourt,  by  the  way,  is  a  village  situated  twenty-one 
kilometres  southwest  of  Verdun,  and  our  quarters  were 
located  a  kilometre  east  of  it,  on  the  road  to  Souilly. 
They  consisted  of  a  long  shed,  set  on  a  hillside,  and  con- 
structed of  rough  boards  and  branches  of  trees.  The  ar- 
chitect's predominating  idea  seems  to  have  been  to  secure 
ample  ventilation,  and  in  this  he  was  highly  successful. 
The  shed  was  divided  by  partitions,  even  more  flimsily 
constructed  than  the  walls  of  the  structure,  into  small 
rooms  with  space  —  shelter  is  hardly  the  word  —  for  from 
three  to  five  men  each.  A  larger  room  at  the  north  end 
served  as  a  dining-room.  Light  was  admitted  through 
windows  which  were  covered  with  glazed  cloth  and 
through  numerous  cracks  as  well.  The  heating  apparatus 
consisted  of  a  number  of  home-made  stoves  left  behind 
by  our  predecessors  in  Section  Four,  but  which  they  re- 
claimed three  or  four  days  after  our  arrival,  so  that  even 
the  modicum  of  comfort  which  these  stoves  afforded  was 
thereafter  denied  us.  We  did  manage,  however,  by  hook 
or  crook,  to  secure  stoves  for  two  or  three  rooms  which 
radiated,  at  times,  enough  heat  to  thaw  out  half-frozen 
fingers  or  toes.  Our  fuel  consisted  of  scraps  of  green  tim- 

153 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


bers  secured  from  a  near-by  sawmill  and  whatever  under- 
brush we  were  able  to  find  in  the  vicinity.  One  of  the 
vivid,  if  unpleasant,  memories  of  these  days  is  the  sound 
of  the  bell  at  7  a.m.,  which  called  us  from  between 
comparatively  warm  blankets  to  the  dining-room  which 
was  devoid  of  even  the  small  amount  of  heat  that  a 
bright  sun  contributed  to  the  world  outside.  At  breakfast 
the  bread  was  warm,  that  is,  it  had  been  placed  in  the 
oven  long  enough  to  raise  considerably  the  temperature 
of  the  exterior,  but  the  inside  of  the  loaf  was  always 
frozen.  The  coffee  seldom  was  hot.  After  breakfast  the 
most  effective  means  of  becoming  comfortably  warm  was 
to  attempt  to  crank  one's  Ford.  Two  hours  was  the 
average  length  of  time  required  to  start  a  car.  The  water 
in  the  radiators  froze  in  an  incredibly  short  time  if  the 
motors  were  allowed  to  cool.  On  one  occasion  when 
the  radiator  on  the  staff  car  had  become  overheated,  the 
boiling  water  which  was  thrown  out  turned  to  ice  before 
it  struck  the  windshield.  During  the  seventeen  days  we 
were  quartered  at  Ippecourt,  the  thermometer  was  al- 
most constantly  below  zero  (Fahrenheit). 

The  feature  of  the  w^ork  at  this  time  was  the  German 
attack  on  Hill  304  which  began  on  January  25,  after  a 
violent  bombardment.  The  attacks  and  counter-attacks 
continued  for  about  a  week,  during  which  time  every 
car  that  was  not  disabled  by  the  miserable  roads  and  the 
even  more  miserable  weather  was  running  almost  con- 
stantly. 

After  these  attacks  had  subsided,  we  had  a  moderate 
amount  of  work,  an  average  of  six  cars  a  day  running. 
But  the  sector  was  never  entirely  quiet,  there  being  more 
or  less  artillery  activity  at  all  times,  considerable  gas  sent 
over  by  the  Boches  and  a  coup  de  mairi  occurring  every 
few  days.  Montzeville,  Esnes,  and  the  road  between 
these  two  villages  received  shells  quite  often,  and  narrow 
escapes  were  common  enough  to  relieve  the  monotony  of 
camp  life.  This  road,  in  fact,  was  exposed  to  the  view  of 
the  Germans  whose  trenches  were  barely  two  kilometres 

154 


SECTION  ONE 


distant  on  Mort  Homme;  and  merely  to  go  over  it  was 
always  something  of  an  adventure. 

The  Section's  ''Blue  Book" 

The  following  description  of  this  road  from  Jubecourt  to 
Esnes,  taken  from  the  Section's  "Blue  Book,"  will  give 
the  reader  a  good  idea  of  the  troubles  and  trials  of  our 
rolling: 

''Leaving  the  poste  des  hrancardiers  at  Jubecourt,  turn 
right  on  sharp  grade.  This  is  Ringwalt  Corner;  for  it  was 
here  that  Ringwalt  went  over  the  bank  on  the  night 
that  we  took  over  the  sector,  his  car  turning  over  twice. 
How  he  managed  to  get  over  on  the  left-hand  side  of  the 
road  and  slip  over  the  bank  while  going  up  hill  on  low 
speed,  nobody  knows;  but  he  did  it.  Continue  north  over 
fairly  level  route,  part  of  it  very  rough,  to  Brocourt 
(3.5  km.)  entering  the  village  over  miserable  piece  of 
corduroy  road  after  left  turn  at  cemetery.  Bear  right, 
passing  to  rear  of  church.  Beware  of  other  roads  leading 
to  Auzeville,  Brabant,  and  Jouy.  Sentry  at  corner.  Pass 
sign,  '  Eteignez  vos  lumieres,'  descending  steep  hill,  cross 
small  railroad,  —  munitions  depot  down  gulch  to  the 
left,  large  gun  to  the  right.  Ascend  steep  grade  and  con- 
tinue along  level  road,  cross  old  Roman  road  and  pass  on 
the  right  a  genie  camp  situated  in  a  small  wood  —  Bols  de 
Foucheres.  Continue  over  very  rough  stretch  of  road  to 
sentry  box  (6.5  km.)  turn  sharp  to  right.  Country  imme- 
diately surrounding  the  sentry  box  is  quite  bare.  From 
this  point  there  is  a  very  good  view  of  Clermont-en- 
Argonne,  due  west ;  and  the  eastern  slope  of  the  Argonne 
Forest,  as  far  south  as  the  Cote  des  Cerfs  near  Brizeaux, 
is  also  visible.  Continue  along  winding  road  —  fine  view 
of  Dombasle  and  country  to  the  northeast,  especially 
the  Bois  de  Bethelainville  —  downhill  into  Dombasle-en- 
Argonne  (ii.i  km.)  cross Sainte-Menehould -Verdun  rail- 
road, turn  left  over  small  bridge  and  cross  Paris-Metz 
Grande  Route  (elevation  235  m.)  passing  on  the  right  a 
picturesque  ruin  with  tall  chimneys  and  extensive  garden; 

155 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


bear  left  through  the  village  and  continue  on  gentle  up- 
grade. Barracks  on  hillside  to  left;  Bethelainville  poste  de 
secours  in  cave  on  hillside  on  right.  Road  from  this  point 
is  extremely  rough.  Pass  source  on  right  and  enter  Bois 
de  Bethelainville  —  ammunition  depot  resembling  stone 
quarry  on  right.  Continue  through  wood  —  batteries  on 
both  sides  of  the  road.  Emerging  from  the  wood  (eleva- 
tion 328  m.),  we  have  good  outlook,  including  view  of 
hills  near  Chattancourt,  le  Mort  Homme,  Hill  310,  Hill 
304,  and  vicinity  of  Montfaucon  and  other  points  beyond 
the  German  lines.  Descending  from  this  point  by  easy 
grade  along  tree-lined  road  with  shell-holes  on  either  side, 
enter  Montzeville  (17.8  km.  elevation  240  m.).  The  poste 
de  secours  is  situated  in  a  cave  on  the  left.  Along  the  left 
or  west  side  of  the  village  lies  Hill  310  on  which  many 
batteries  are  planted.  Pedestrians  may  take  path  across 
Hill  310  to  Esnes  —  2  km.  Leaving  Montzeville,  road 
bears  slightly  left  and  enters  the  *  Bad  Lands'  road  — 
extremely  rough  passage  over  slight  rise  and  stretch  of 
uncrushed  stone.  In  field  to  left  are  batteries  of  soixante- 
quinzes  disguised  as  pig-sties.  Road  is  bordered  by 
stumps.  Beware  of  extremely  rocky  place,  which  must  be 
crossed  on  low^  speed,  and  a  short  distance  farther  on, 
another  one  even  worse.  Bear  left  at  fork  —  road  to  right 
goes  to  Chattancourt.  Ascend  easy  grade;  road  very 
rough,  soixante-quinze  batteries  to  left,  camouflage  made 
of  branches  erected  on  right  side  of  road.  In  this  vicinity 
drivers  may  expect  to  meet  field  kitchens  and  droves  of 
burros  at  any  hour  after  dark,  until  3  a.m.  Pass  in- 
verted fork  in  road  where  highway  from  Marre  joins  at 
acute  angle.  Now  we  are  at  Toy's  corner.  The  road  from 
this  corner  to  the  next  corner  —  about  half  a  kilometre  — 
is  within  plain  view  of  the  German  trenches  on  le  Mort 
Homme,  two  kilometres  to  the  north.  Begin  gentle  descent, 
watch  for  new  shell-holes,  turn  abrupt  left  (ele\'ation 
234  m.)  probably  the  most  dangerous  point  on  the  road, 
the  corner  being  subject  to  indiscriminate  shelling  at  all 
hours,  and  extremely  skiddy  in  icy  weather.  We  are  now 

156 


SECTION  ONE 


overlooking  the  village  of  Esnes.  Continue  gentle  de- 
scent, pass  wrecked  ambulance  on  right,  where  is  fine  view 
of  Hill  304  about  a  kilometre  to  the  right,  ruins  of  houses 
on  either  side,  dead  horse  on  the  right,  dead  donkey 
and  pile  of  wire  and  other  genie  material  on  left.  At  this 
point  the  road  becomes  a  perfect  morass  of  mud  and  ice, 
which  can  be  crossed  only  on  low  speed  and  by  the  exer- 
cise of  the  utmost  caution  to  avoid  crevices,  boulders, 
and  sink-holes.  Pearl,  Tyson,  and  Hibbard  became  fast 
in  this  hole  on  the  night  of  January  25-26,  and  Farlow, 
Kurtz,  Flynn,  and  Wood  on  the  night  of  February  16-17. 
Arriving  at  corner  with  tower  of  ruined  church  on  right 
(elevation  225  m.)  cross  bad  ditch  and  turn  into  narrow 
lane  passing  to  left  of  church.  Avoid  large  shell-holes  on 
left  side  of  road  and  15  metres  farther  on,  another  shell- 
hole  on  left,  opposite  stone  watering  trough  on  right.  Con- 
tinue 10  metres  over  rocks  to  ruined  chateau  on  right 
(21.8  km.).  Turn  car  in  small  yard  covered  with  rubbish. 
End  of  route." 

Vadelaincourt  —  Champagne 

On  March  14,  191 7,  the  Section  went  en  repos  near  by, 
at  Vadelaincourt.  While  there  Benjamin  R.  Woodworth 
became  Chef  of  the  Section,  James  M.  Sponagle  being 
made  Sous-Chef.  The  men  were  quartered  in  an  aviation 
field  and  became  well  acquainted  with  many  of  the  avi- 
ators, a  pleasant  feature  of  our  sojourn  there.  We  re- 
mained at  Vadelaincourt  one  month  and  then  departed 
for  the  Champagne  front,  stopping,  however,  for  two 
days  at  Dombasle,  to  renew  acquaintance  with  fam.iliar 
scenes  around  Cote  304.  Here  General  Herr,  command- 
ing the  Sixteenth  Army  Corps,  reviewed  the  Section, 
shaking  hands  with  each  man  and  expressing  his  appre- 
ciation of  our  work  and  his  keen  regret  at  our  departure. 
A  short  time  later  the  Section  was  cited  by  order  of  the 
Sixteenth  Army  Corps,  and  four  of  its  members  were 
cited  individually. 

It  was  with  the  anticipation  of  great  things  that  the 

157 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Section  departed  for  the  Champagne  front  where,  it  was 
rumored,  we  were  to  take  part  in  the  great  ofYensive  just 
beginning  in  the  neighborhood  of  Reims.  But  instead, 
we  found  ourselves  once  more  eji  repos,  this  time  in  the 
sector  where  every  one  had  looked  forward  to  the  most 
stirring  times  in  the  Section's  history.  The  keen  disap- 
pointment of  the  men  was  hardly  allayed  by  the  fact 
that  they  were  quartered  in  a  seventeenth-century  cha- 
teau and  that  they  were  able  to  make  occasional  visits 
to  Reims  and  the  historic  cathedral.  Some  of  the  men 
witnessed  the  burning,  on  May  3,  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville, 
after  a  large  number  of  incendiary  shells  had  been  thrown 
in  the  vicinity. 

The  Legion  of  Honor  for  Mr.  Andrew 

On  April  29,  1917,  Inspector-General  Andrew  received 
the  Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  the  ceremony  being  held 
in  front  of  the  chateau  at  Muizon.  If  the  presentation  had 
taken  place  at  the  Invalides  the  setting  could  not  have 
been  more  impressive.  There  was  a  military  band  which 
supplied  music,  punctuated  by  the  thundering  of  some 
big  guns  located  near  by.  The  presentation  of  the  Cross 
was  made  by  General  Ragueneau,  of  General  Nivelle's 
staff.  In  front  of  an  imposing  group  of  French  officers 
stood  two  standard  bearers,  one  a  French  Lieutenant 
carrying  the  tricolor  and  the  other  James  M.  Sponagle, 
carrying  our  Section  flag  on  which  appeared  the  Croix 
de  Guerre  and  the  names  of  the  campaigns. 

While  we  were  at  Dombasle,  by  the  way,  we  enjoyed 
several  visits  from  Mr.  Andrew.  On  March  i,  he  and 
Sponagle  inspected  the  cars  with  a  view  to  possible  im- 
provement in  the  construction  of  the  bodies.  Townsend 
offered  the  suggestion  that  the  side  boxes  should  be  en- 
larged to  provide  ample  space,  not  only  for  tools,  but  for 
personal  equipment  which  drivers  require  while  on  serv- 
ice. Mr.  Andrew  argued  that  there  was  already  plenty 
of  room;  in  fact  if  more  space  were  provided  it  would 
simply  mean  that  many  of  the  cars  would  be  loaded  down 

158 


T       ^ 


-  5, 


??i 


22 


iMfMirirWii^ 


SECTION  ONE 


with  souvenirs  and  junk.  But  Townsend  insisted  that 
more  space  was  necessary,  whereupon  Mr.  Andrew  said, 
**Well,  Ned,  let 's  see  what  you  've  got  in  your  boxes,  any- 
way." So  lifting  up  the  lids  they  found  several  ohus  in 
his  side  boxes  and  in  an  arm  box  a  dead  owl ! 

On  May  6  the  Section  suffered  one  of  the  most  severe 
losses  to  its  personnel  that  had  occurred  since  its  organi- 
zation, when  Lieutenant  de  Kersauson,  who  for  two  years 
had  been  its  energetic  and  highly  prized  leader,  was 
ordered  to  take  charge  of  the  new  training  school  for 
American  officers  at  Meaux.  A  day  or  two  later.  Lieu- 
tenant James  F.  Reymond  arrived  and  assumed  charge 
of  the  Section. 

During  the  latter  part  of  May  the  Section  began  work- 
ing in  connection  with  a  division  of  dismounted  cavalry 
attached  to  the  Fifth  Army.  The  line  extended  from 
Cauroy  to  Brimont,  the  poste  de  secours  being  located 
on  the  Reims-Laon  highway,  in  sight  of  the  German 
trenches.  The  work  was  very  light  and  two  cars,  stationed 
at  Villers-Franqueux,  went  down  at  night  only.  One  of  the 
interesting  sights  from  this  village  was  the  occasional 
shelling  of  Brimont,  about  three  kilometres  away,  by  the 
French  guns,  which  from  various  points  on  the  road  be- 
tween Muizon  and  Villers-Franqueux,  the  German  shells 
could  be  seen  falling  on  Reims. 

WOODWORTH  KILLED 

On  June  15  Benjamin  R.  Woodworth,  the  Section's  Chef, 
was  instantly  killed  while  riding  as  a  passenger  in  a 
French  aeroplane.  The  accident  occurred  as  Woodworth 
and  Chatkoff,  the  pilot,  a  member  of  an  escadrille  near 
Muizon,  were  leaving  the  grounds  of  the  Lafayette  Es- 
cadrille near  Soissons.  The  interment  took  place  at 
Chalons-sur-Vesle  with  military  honors.  ''Woody"  was 
a  member  of  the  Section  from  June,  191 5»  to  July,  1916. 
He  reentered  the  service  in  November,  19 16,  and  had 
been  Chef  of  the  Section  since  April,  19 17.  W.  Yorke 
Stevenson  succeeded  him  as  Chef,  and  the  latter  part  of 

159 


THE  A-AIERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


June,  James  M.  Sponagle  resigned  as  Sous-Chef  to  be- 
come Chef  of  Section  Sixty-Five,  being  succeeded  by 
James  M.  White. 

On  June  21,  the  Section  moved  to  Louvois,  an  attrac- 
tive village  in  the  midst  of  the  Champagne  district  some 
fifteen  kilometres  southeast  of  Reims  where  were  two 
pastes  —  one  in  the  almost  demolished  village  of  Sillery 
and  the  other  at  a  point  on  the  Aisne-Marne  canal,  known 
as  FEsperance.  One  car  was  kept  constantly  at  the  latter 
poste  and  another  was  held  at  the  Chateau  Romont,  a 
beautiful  place,  while  four  cars  remained  at  the  near-by 
village  of  Ludes  to  relieve  these  two. 

The  sector  was  comparatively  quiet.  The  lines  had  re- 
mained practically  stationar^^  for  more  than  two  years 
and  the  peasants  could  be  seen  working  daily  in  the  fields 
within  plain  view  of  and  almost  up  to  the  trenches.  From 
Ludes  and  Chateau  Romont  the  German  positions  were 
visible  from  Reims  to  Mont  Cornillet.  At  this  time  there 
was  considerable  activity  around  Mont  Cornillet  and 
Mont  Haut,  a  little  farther  east,  and  there  was  an  occa- 
sional bombardment  or  a  coup  de  ynain  in  front  of  Sillery 
or  FEsperance,  because  of  the  proximity  to  the  more 
active  sector.  Evacuations  were  to  Ludes,  Chenay,  Lou- 
vois, and  Epernay. 

XORTOX  KILLED 

Ox  the  evening  of  July  12  George  Frederick  Norton  was 
killed  by  an  air  bomb  while  on  duty  at  Ludes.  Norton 
and  the  other  men  on  duty  there  at  that  time  —  Robert  H. 
Gamble,  Hugh  Elliott,  and  Richard  Oiler  —  had  turned 
in  for  the  night,  when  at  about  ten-thirty  a  German  plane 
was  heard  in  the  vicinity  and  two  bombs  exploded  on  the 
other  side  of  the  village.  Norton  arose,  and  was  looking 
out  of  the  window  of  the  chalet,  when  a  third  bomb  ex- 
ploded just  across  the  road  about  twenty  yards  away,  at 
least  three  eclats  striking  him,  killing  him  instantly  and 
piercing  the  wall  of  the  chalet  in  many  places.  The  other 
men  had  ver>'  narrow  escapes;  indeed  Gamble  received 

160 


SECTION  ONE 


a  slight  wound  in  the  shoulder,  though  he  was  able  to 
continue  on  duty  for  forty-eight  hours. 

The  funeral  ser\-ice  over  the  body  of  Norton  was  held 
the  following  evening  at  dusk.  As  the  village  was  within 
plain  view  of  the  German  lines,  it  was  not  possible  to 
hold  it  during  the  day.  The  French  chaplain  who  con- 
ducted the  service  spoke  simply  but  eloquently  of  the 
beautiful  spirit  of  sacrifice  which  led  Norton  to  offer  his 
sen-ices  to  France.  The  body  was  interred  with  full  mili- 
tary honors  in  a  new  cemetery  on  the  edge  of  the  village. 
Norton  was  cited  to  the  order  of  the  Army  and  was 
awarded  the  Croix  de  Gtierre  with  palm.  Three  other 
members  of  the  Section  were  also  cited  on  the  same 
occasion. 

\^ERDUN  AGAIN 

Ox  July  23  the  Section  left  this  beautiful  region  of  the 
Champagne  and  went  via  Bar-le-Duc  to  Evres  where  one 
week  was  spent  eft  repos.  Even.-^vhere  were  rumors  of  the 
great  offensive  about  to  be  started  on  the  Meuse,  and  in 
August  the  Section  moved  on  to  \'erdun  and  began  work 
on  the  right  bank.  How  many  had  been  the  changes  on 
the  historic  battlefield  within  the  past  year  I  The  village 
of  Fleur}-,  the  centre  of  such. terrific  attacks  and  coun- 
ter-attacks a  year  before,  was  now  so  utterly  razed  that 
some  of  the  men  passed  it  several  times  before  they  could 
believe  that  the  maps  had  it  correctly  located,  while 
the  Caserne  Marceau,  near  Fort  Saint-Michel,  which  in 
August.  1 91 6,  was  an  advanced  poste  with  the  Germ.an 
trenches  less  that  a  kilometre  distant  across  the  ridge, 
was  now  well  to  the  rear. 

Four  cars  stationed  here  went  on  call  to  posies  at  Saint- 
Fine,  near  Fort  Sou\'ille,  La  Source  near  \'aux,  and  Cham- 
bouillat  and  Carriere  Sud  near  Douaumont.  Other  cars 
ser\-ed  posies  near  Fort  Tavannes  and  at  Carriere  d'Hau- 
dromont  near  Louvemont,  all  of  which  points  were  held 
by  the  Germans  when  the  Section  worked  there  the  year 
before  and  some  of  which  were  then  well  behind  the  battle 

161 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 

lines.  The  conditions  under  which  we  labored  were  try- 
ing from  the  very  first,  for  the  roads  were  congested  with 
traffic,  w^ere  frequently  shelled,  and  gas  was  encountered 
almost  every  night. 

The  men  were  quartered  at  first  at  Haudainville;  but 
after  a  few  days  we  secured  a  site  for  our  tents  just  out- 
side the  hospital  grounds  at  the  Caserne  Beveaux,  on  the 
south  side  of  Verdun.  All  cars  evacuated  to  this  hospital, 
except  during  the  first  few  days  when  the  Maison  Nathan 
in  Verdun,  near  the  Porte  de  Saint-Paul,  was  used. 

The  artillery  bombardment,  which  was  expected  daily, 
did  not  begin  in  earnest  until  about  August  14.  A  day  or 
two  later  a  Red  Cross  ambulance  section  —  S.S.U.  61  — 
began  working  with  Section  One  at  all  the  postes  except 
Carriere  d'Haudromont,  which  we  continued  to  care  for 
unaided  until  the  infantry  attack  began,  when  we  surren- 
dered it  to  two  French  ambulance  sections. 

Pearl  Wounded  —  The  Verdun  Attack,  191 7 

On  the  evening  of  August  16  William  A.  Pearl,  the 
Section  mechanic,  was  severely  wounded  while  on  the 
way  to  Haudromont  with  Rice,  to  repair  a  disabled  car. 
A  shell  exploded  a  few  yards  from  the  car  in  w^hich  they 
were  riding  and  a  large  eclat  passed  through  Pearl's  fore- 
arm, completely  disabling  his  hand  so  that  he  had  to  be 
evacuated  to  Paris. 

The  first  infantry  attack  was  launched  early  on  the 
morning  of  the  20th  with  magnificent  success  for  the 
French.  Hill  304,  the  Mort  Homme,  the  Bois  des  Cor- 
beaux,  the  Bois  de  Cumieres,  the  Cote  du  Talon,  Champ- 
neuville,  Hill  344,  Mormont  Farm,  and  Hill  240  were  en- 
tirely retaken.  In  the  morning  Lieutenant  Reymond  went 
with  the  first  cars  to  the  Carriere  Sud  and  rendered  such 
valuable  aid  in  clearing  the  roads  of  wrecked  wagons, 
dead  horses,  and  munition  trucks  that  he  was  cited  shortly 
after  by  the  Division.  German  counter-attacks  followed, 
but  the  French  continued  to  attack  with  vigor,  Beaumont 
falling  into  their  hands  on  the  26th. 

162 


SECTION  ONE 


The  fighting  on  both  sides,  especially  the  artillery  ac- 
tivity, continued  heavy  day  and  night  and  reacted  on  us. 
Every  car  in  the  Section  received  its  quota  of  shell-holes, 
one  car  driven  by  Ryan  being  utterly  demolished  while 
standing  in  front  of  the  poste  of  Carriere  Sud.  A  short 
time  before  the  sides  of  two  cars  —  driven  by  Flynn  and 
Tapley  —  had  been  blown  out  by  shells  at  Haudromont. 
On  several  occasions  shells  exploded  near  ambulances  on 
the  road,  when  the  couches  inside  the  car  became  so  fright- 
ened that  they  jumped  off  their  stretchers  and  took  re- 
fuge in  near-by  ahris.  At  times  it  was  impossible  to  go 
through  and  we  had  first  of  all  to  repair  the  road  our- 
selves by  filling  the  holes  with  loose  rocks  and  earth.  Holt 
was  badly  gassed  near  Haudromont,  a  shell  exploding 
near  him  while  he  was  standing  beside  his  car  waiting  for 
a  congestion  of  artillery  caissons  and  guns  to  let  him 
through.  He  was  knocked  down,  his  mask  fell  off,  and  he 
was  rendered  practically  unconscious.  After  being  dragged 
to  a  poste  de  secours  and  given  the  anti-gas  treatment,  he 
insisted  upon  resuming  work,  for  which  he  received  a  fine 
citation. 

Closing  Days  at  Verdun 

During  the  last  week  of  the  Section's  stay  at  Verdun, 
there  were  many  entries  under  the  heading  "collisions  and 
derailments,"  for  every  man  was  pretty  well  tired  out  and 
most  of  the  men  were  running  on  their  nerves,  with  the 
result  that  accidents  were  of  frequent  occurrence.  At  times 
the  rush  was  so  great  that  in  order  to  relieve  the  conges- 
tion. Chief  Stevenson  drove  ambulances  himself.  There 
was  rejoicing  in  camp,  therefore,  when  at  last  the  news 
came  that  the  Section  was  to  be  relieved;  and  when, 
on  September  14,  we  departed  for  a  period  of  repos,  the 
drivers  no  less  than  the  soldiers  of  the  division  felt  it  was 
richly  deserved.  So  we  proceeded  south  to  a  peaceful  little 
village  in  Jeanne  d 'Arc's  country. 

For  their  work  at  Verdun  the  following  men  received 
the  Croix  de  Guerre:  Robert  J.  Flynn,  J.  Clifford  Hanna, 

163 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Edward  P.  Townsend  (second  citation),  R.  H.  Plow, 
Roy  Stockwell,  William  A.  Pearl,  James  M.  White, 
Arthur  M.  Dallin,  Richard  H.  Stout,  William  S.  Holt, 
Harold  E.  Purdy,  H.  B.  Day,  Frank  A.  Farnham,  R.  W. 
Tapley,  John  Kreutzberg,  and  Philip  S.  Rice.  A  few  days 
later  the  Section  was  cited  by  order  of  the  Second  Army 
for  the  work  before  \'erdun  during  August  and  Septem- 
ber, receiving  the  Croix  de  Guerre  with  the  palm,  this 
being  the  Section's  fourth  citation. 

The  American  recruiting  officers  arrived  at  the  Sec- 
tion September  13,  19 17,  on  which  date  it  ceased  to  be  a 
volunteer  organization  and  became  a  part  of  the  United 
States  Army. 

Roy  H.  Stockwell  ^ 


^  Of  New  Bedford,  Massachusetts;  University  of  Kansas,  '11,  and  the 
Harvard  Law  School;  with  Section  One  from  November,  19 16,  to  Novem- 
ber, 19 17;  subsequently  First  Lieutenant  in  the  U.S.  Field  Artillery  in 
France. 


VI 
The  Work  at  Verdun 

Paris,  September  9,  1916 
I  HAVE  just  returned  from  a  visit  to  Section  One.  After 
seeing  the  extraordinary  work  that  those  boys  are  doing 
up  there,  I  felt  that  I  ought  to  write  and  tell  you  about  it. 

A  good  many  of  the  Sections  are  now  living  under  can- 
vas and  have  often  had  difficulty  in  finding  a  suitable 
place  to  cook.  So  we  have  had  built  a  kitchen  on  two 
wheels  which  is  pulled  along  by  a  big  two-ton  White 
truck  used  for  sitting  cases,  and  the  real  reason  of  my 
visit  was  to  leave  one  with  Section  One. 

As  it  happens,  they  are  situated  at  the  present  moment 
in  the  splendid  Chateau  de  Billemont  about  four  kilo- 
metres outside  of  Verdun,  which  up  to  a  few  weeks  ago 
was  the  headquarters  of  some  French  officers.  But  the 
Germans,  having  got  hold  of  the  fact,  shelled  them  out. 
It  is  an  ideal  place  for  our  men. 

The  poste  de  secours  to  which  they  are  attached  is  six 
kilometres  the  other  side  of  Verdun ;  and  since  ten  days 
before  my  arrival,  and  during  my  stay,  the  French  have 
been  doing  incessant  attacking  and  counter-attacking, 
the  work  of  carrying  the  wounded  has  been  practically 
continuous  night  and  day. 

Going  to  the  poste  de  secours  from  the  chateau,  you  pass 
through  Verdun,  and  continue  on  a  wide,  level  road  for 
about  one  kilometre,  and  then  you  start  up  a  very  steep 
hill  which  continues,  for  five  kilometres,  right  to  the  poste 
de  secours.  This  road  is  very  narrow  and  sufficiently  dan- 
gerous from  a  driving  point  of  view  apart  from  the  fact 
that  it  is  shelled  continuously  day  and  night.  Indeed,  one 
of  the  duties  of  Townsend,  Section  Director,  is  to  go  up 
every  morning  at  daybreak  with  a  couple  of  men  and  fill 
up  the  holes  which  have  been  made  during  the  hours  of 
darkness,  so  that  our  cars  will  not  fall  into  them. 

165 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


The  poste  itself  is  only  one  hundred  and  fifty  yards 
from  Fort  Saint-Michel,  which,  of  course,  accounts  for  the 
attention  which  that  part  of  the  country  gets  from  the 
German  artillery.  Besides  this,  the  whole  valley  and  hill- 
sides are  covered  with  French  batteries,  and  the  din  at  the 
top  of  the  hill  makes  it  impossible  to  talk  in  anything 
like  an  ordinary  tone  of  voice. 

The  day  driving  is  comparatively  nothing.  The  part, 
however,  for  which  they  deserve  all  the  praise  that  we 
can  give  them,  is  their  work  at  night.  Naturally  no  lights 
are  allowed,  and  I  have  never  seen  a  country  that  can 
produce  darker  nights  than  that  district.  Therefore  let 
one  try  and  imagine  the  difficulties  of  starting  from  the 
top  of  that  hill  with  a  car  full  of  wounded  and  driv- 
ing down  a  narrow  hillside  road  in  a  blackness  impene- 
trable for  more  than  a  yard.  In  fact  if  it  were  not 
for  the  light  given  by  the  firing  of  the  guns  and  hand- 
grenades,  the  work  would  be  well-nigh  impossible;  and 
what  makes  it  more  difficult  still  is  that  all  the  traffic 
starts  at  night  when  the  ammunition  is  brought  up  to  the 
various  batteries  and  you  are  continually  finding  teams 
of  horses  almost  on  the  top  of  the  car  before  you  have 
any  idea  of  their  presence.  The  round  trip  from  the  poste 
de  secours  to  the  hospital  takes  from  two  hours  and  a  half 
to  three  hours,  which  averages  a  speed  of  about  ten  kilo- 
metres an  hour.  This  will  give  an  idea  of  how  slowly  one 
has  to  go. 

When  I  visited  the  Section,  it  had  been  doing  this  work 
for  ten  days  before  I  got  there,  and  yet  there  was  not  the 
slightest  sign  of  fatigue  or  impatience  among  the  men. 
I  doubt,  however,  if  any  man  in  the  Section  had  had, 
during  that  time,  five  hours'  consecutive  sleep.  But  far 
from  shirking  what  they  had  to  do,  they  were  each  and 
every  one  of  them  attempting  more  than  their  share. 
One  night,  for  example,  the  Medecin  Chef,  who  had  charge 
of  the  poste,  received  word  to  prepare,  on  account  of  an 
unexpected  attack,  for  an  unusual  number  of  wounded, 
and  fearing  that  Section  One  might  not  be  able  to  handle 

1 66 


THE   GENTLE   HAND   OF   THE   SHELL 


WHAT   WAS   ]J:KJ    oi     i;\  AN  S   CAR   AT   CARRIERE   SUD  (VERDUN) 


SECTION  ONE 


the  situation  alone,  he  called  out  as  reserve  a  French 
Section  which  was  in  Verdun.  No  deeper  offence  than  this 
could  have  been  offered  to  poor  Townsend,  and  every 
man  in  the  American  Section  worked  double  that  night. 
Needless  to  say  that  the  French  Section  stayed  where 
it  was  —  in  reserve.  The  idea  that  any  situation  was 
too  big  for  our  boys  to  handle  was  something  not  to 
be  considered. 

No  matter  how  carefully  a  man  drives  at  night,  a  num- 
ber of  accidents  are  bound  to  occur.  In  one  night  there 
were  six.  Of  course  these  were  minor  accidents  which 
could  be  repaired  in  a  fairly  short  time.  For  instance,  the 
White  camion  one  night  went  into  a  ditch ;  two  cars  went 
head  on  into  each  other  in  the  darkness;  two  more  cars 
went  into  ditches  and  another  fell  into  a  shell-hole.  Oc- 
casionally, of  course,  som^ething  occurred  which  would 
put  a  car  out  of  commission  three  or  four  days,  w^hich 
m.eans  that  the  Section  is  that  much  short.  If  this  sort 
of  thing  happens  too  often  the  authorities  get  impatient 
and  threaten  to  replace  the  incomplete  Section  by  a  com- 
plete one,  which,  of  course,  about  breaks  the  hearts  of 
our  fellows.  So  in  the  end  we  had  cars  in  reserve  for  each 
Section  to  prevent  this  contingency  ever  happening. 

The  fact  that  every  car  has  been  hit  makes  no  impres- 
sion whatever  on  the  men.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  by  this 
that  they  are  reckless  or  foolhardy ;  on  the  contrary,  they 
take  all  possible  precautions.  But  when  there  is  anything 
to  be  done,  it  is  carried  through  without  question  or  hesi- 
tation. Without  exaggeration  and  without  indulging  in 
any  blood-curdling  stories,  their  work  really  impressed 
me  as  tremendously  fine.  Nothing  that  I  can  say  can 
give  an  idea  of  how  splendid  these  boys  are. 

John  H.  McFadden,  Jr.^ 

^  Of  Philadelphia;  University  of  Pennsylvania,  '13;  entered  the  Field 
Service  in  October,  1914;  became  treasurer  of  the  organization  in  France; 
left  the  Service  in  1917  to  accept  the  post  of  Assistant  Military  Attache 
at  the  American  Embassy  in  Paris. 


VII 

Notes  from  a  Diary 

Cappy,  Somme,  April  3,  1916 
I  SPENT  the  night  here  at  our  advanced  poste.  The  town 
is  in  ruins.  There  was  no  call  for  the  trenches.  The  night 
was  too  clear.  I  woke  about  4  a.m.,  thinking  it  was  late 
because  I  heard  the  birds  chirping,  but  found  it  was  only 
the  rats  squeaking.  The  place  is  full  of  them;  they  walk 
over  you  at  night.  But  nobody  cares.  The  country  is  full 
of  quail  and  hares,  but  no  one  bothers  them  and  they  are 
very  tame. 

April  5 
This  morning  I  watched  the  twenty-first  "Suicide  Club" 
practising  hand-grenade  throwing.  Magoun  and  I  noted 
where  the  things  were  thrown,  with  the  idea  of  picking 
up  a  few  fusees  afterwards.  Now  and  then  they  don't 
land  right;  so  Magoun  later  picked  up  a  couple  of  unex- 
ploded  ones  and  offered  me  one.  I  declined  and  told  him 
he  had  better  let  them  alone.  Just  as  we  were  arguing  up 
came  a  file  of  men  with  shovels  to  bury  the  unfired  gre- 
nades. When  they  saw  Magoun  with  two  in  his  hands 
they  nearly  had  a  fit;  said  he  was  crazy,  and  to  prove  it 
they  told  us  to  get  in  a  near-by  trench  and  they  'd  show 
us.  So  we  all  crawled  in  and  an  expert  then  recocked 
the  little  spring  and  threw  the  grenade,  which  went  ofT 
with  a  bang  that  shook  the  trench !  That  evening  we  got  a 
call  to  carry  two  blesses  —  one  man  with  his  face  muti- 
lated and  another  one  with  his  feet  blown  off,  who,  oddly 
enough,  had  been  ''fishing*'  in  the  canal,  by  throwing 
hand-grenades  in  and  then  collecting  the  dead  fish  which 
floated  up  to  the  surface  —  a  nice  sporting  thing  to  do ! 
I  must  say  I  could  n*t  feel  very  sorry  for  them.  The 
same  night  we  heard  a  heavy  explosion  close  to  our 

168 


SECTION  ONE 


farm  and  at  first  supposed  that  it  was  an  incoming 
ohiis.  But  it  really  occurred  in  the  back  room  of  a  cafe 
in  which  we  eat,  and  a  call  came  shortly  after  when  we 
collected  three  more  poor  fellows  hurt,  and  three  dead, 
from  fiddling  with  hand-grenades.  I  made  a  point  to  rub 
it  into  Magoun,  calling  his  attention  to  the  fact  that  that 
day,  in  our  Sector,  the  French  lost  more  men  through 
their  own  carelessness  than  from  Boche  activity. 

Roche,  Magoun,  Francklyn,  and  I  now  occupy  the 
palatial  apartment  known  as  the  ''rat  incubator." 
Some  of  the  boys  —  Underbill,  Baylies,  and  Paul  —  have 
erected  a  tent;  as  they  were  above  us  in  the  *'Rat 
Hole,"  and  their  feet  kept  continually  coming  through 
the  ceiling  carrying  plaster  and  splinters  on  to  us,  we  are 
now  more  comfortable  and  clean,  although  Lewis,  Lath- 
rop,  and  Edwards  are  still  up  there.  Townsend,  White, 
and  Woodworth  have  the  best  rooms  in  a  really  well-kept 
house,  while  Sponagle,  Cunningham,  and  Winsor  sleep 
next  to  the  repair  shop.  The  Lieutenant  and  the  other 
Frenchmen  attached  to  the  Section  sleep  in  the  hureau, 
a  nice  little  well-kept  cottage  also.  The  washing  is  done 
by  a  dear  old  woman  who  hates  to  leave  and  hopes,  de- 
spite orders,  to  stay. 

April  9 
Yesterday  I  was  "Chow,"  that  is,  the  man  who  sets  the 
table  and  waits  on  it.  Each  takes  this  duty  by  turns.  But 
as  we  eat  everything  off  the  same  plate,  that  is  each  one 
of  us  has  but  one  plate,  with  the  same  fork  and  knife, 
there  is  no  great  strain  upon  the  Admirable  Crichton  on 
duty.  Although  I  got  to  bed  at  3  A.M.  I  had  to  be  up  at 
6.30  to  set  the  table,  being  ''Chow."  It's  a  great  life, 
though,  which  I  would  n't  miss  for  worlds.  \\'e  have  a  lot 
of  fun  on  the  side;  play  base-ball  and  a  funny  sort  of 
adaptation  of  tennis  with  a  hoop.  At  night  we  play  rou- 
lette for  centime  stakes,  occasionally  fish  for  pike  with  a 
sort  of  trident  made  out  of  old  Ford  brake  rods,  and  swim 
now  and  then  when  it  is  warm. 

169 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


May  22 
White  and  Campbell  finally  received  their  decorations 
to-day.  An  amusing  incident  occurred  when  the  General 
took  White,  who  had  been  told  to  stand  out  in  front  of  the 
line,  to  be  a  mere  onlooker  and  ordered  him  back.  It  had 
to  be  explained  to  him  that  this  was  the  hero  who  was  to 
be  decorated!  The  General  apologized,  of  course,  but  it 
got  every  one  giggling  and  somewhat  marred  the  solem- 
nity of  the  occasion. 

Cappy,  June  i 
Big  mortar  batteries  are  arriving  along  the  front.  I  saw 
several  here,  at  Cappy,  this  afternoon,  hidden  near  the 
cemetery.  Nowadays  even  when  a  man  gets  killed  he  is 
not  permitted  to  rest  in  peace.  The  Germans,  trying  to 
reach  these  new  mortars,  are  bound  to  blow  hell  out  of 
the  cemetery. 

Open-Air  Sleeping 

Bayonvillers,  June  2 
I  HAD  fun  with  Francklyn  this  morning.  It  appears  that 
he  used  Imbrie's  paillasse  last  night,  so  that  when  Imbrie 
and  I  returned  from  Cappy,  it  was  nowhere  to  be  found. 
Francklyn  was  still  asleep;  so  we  carried  him,  bunk  and 
all,  out  into  the  main  street  and  placed  him  on  the  side- 
walk. A  large  crowd  immediately  gathered,  thinking  he 
was  a  blesse,  as  he  had  nothing  on  but  a  blanket.  He  woke 
up  just  as  a  division  staff  was  passing,  and  he  certainly 
did  make  a  quick  jump  for  the  yard  with  the  blanket 
flapping  like  the  tail  of  a  kite  behind  his  long,  bare  legs 
as  he  beat  it. 

Echisier,  June  13 
The  other  day  a  trooper  fell  off  his  horse  and  hit  his  head 
and  they  ordered  me  to  carry  the  unconscious  man  to 
Villers-Bretonneux.  The  car  was  already  full,  but  I  piled 
him  in  and  took  him  along  to  save  argument.  Of  course 
I  had  a  hideous  time  at  the  hospital  at  Villers,  not  having 

170 


SECTION  ONE 


a  ticket  for  him.  For  an  hour  or  so  nobody  could  take 
him  in  —  the  usual  red  tape. 

June  14 
To-day  I  had  an  interesting  talk  with  a  French  Lieuten- 
ant. He  says  the  Senegalese  are  awfully  hard  to  handle. 
They  won't  stand  shell-fire,  but  don't  mind  machine 
guns,  so  Frenchmen  are  put  on  either  side  of  them  — 
fifteen  hundred  Senegalese  in  each  division.  They  have 
strings  of  Boche  ears  which  they  keep  as  trophies.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  "Germs"  always  kill  the  black  wounded 
and  prisoners;  so  it  is  about  fifty-fifty. 

June  20 
To-DAY  we  saw  the  funeral  of  two  aviators.  It  was  quite 
impressive.  One  plane  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  in  the 
heavens  above  the  grave. 

Chalons,  June  23 
The  French  kids  are  good  little  fellows.  To-day  one  in- 
sisted I  should  have  a  rose  in  my  buttonhole.  Every- 
where they  give  us  flowers  or  candy.  Another  led  me  by 
the  hand  all  around  the  village  of  Pont-Sainte-Maxence. 
Along  the  roads  they  always,  girls  and  boys,  click  their 
heels  together  and  give  the  military  salute  when  we  pass. 

Bar-le-Duc,  June  25 
We  all  went  to  bed  at  7  a.m.  and  slept  until  Roche  was 
awakened  by  something  licking  his  face.  Thinking  it  was 
one  of  the  dogs,  he  just  gave  it  a  slap,  and  then  the  w^hole 
tent  nearly  collapsed !  A  stray  cow  had  drifted  in  and  tried 
to  get  acquainted !  The  riot  that  followed  set  all  thought 
of  further  sleep  at  an  end. 

Dugny,  June  29 
One  gets  some  astonishing  directions  when  one  is  work- 
ing at  night  in  a  new  country.  For  instance,  in  going  to 
Fort  Tavannes,  I  was  told  to  go  along  a  certain  road, 

171 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


until  I  passed  two  smells  and  then  turn  to  the  left.  This 
referred  to  two  piles  of  dead  horses ! 

Verdun  itself  is  pretty  well  shot  to  pieces.  To-day  I 
noticed  a  marble  statue  of  Napoleon  standing  up  in  a 
hole  above  the  street,  which  hole  used  to  be  a  window  in 
a  house.  The  statue  creates  a  rather  impressive  effect,  as 
it  looks  out  over  the  ruins  and  desolation  toward  the 
smoking,  rocking  hills. 

Verdun,  June  30 
The  other  day  Bowman  carried  a  Division  Commander 
whose  leg  was  cut  off  by  a  "  77."  He  died  in  the  car  in  the 
arms  of  his  orderly,  whose  only  words  were,  ''It's  too 
bad,  too  bad,  to  be  killed  by  a  mere  'jj^  after  all  he  had 
been  through."  Around  here  nothing  under  a  "130"  is 
regarded  as  amounting  to  much. 

Dugny,  July  i 
We  have  now  three  dogs  attached  to  the  Section.  Besides 
"Vic,"  Magoun  has  picked  up  a  little  woolly  one  at 
Bayonvillers,  while  Bowman  got  a  sad  sort  of  mongrel 
pointer  along  the  road  to  Bar-le-Duc.  They  are  really 
more  trouble  than  they  are  worth,  as  they  continually 
get  lost,  while  at  night  they  come  nosing  into  the  men's 
blankets  and  get  kicked  out  to  the  accompaniment  of  the 
usual  yelping.  Fleas,  of  course,  also  help.  There  are  signs, 
I  see,  of  another  dog  joining  the  squad  here.  It  looks 
somewhat  like  a  young  hyena  and  is  hanging  around  the 
cantonment.  The  tame  crows  and  fox  of  the  camion  driv- 
ers at  Bayonvillers  were  amusing  and  could  be  caged, 
but  these  pups  are  continually  escaping.  What  with  our 
three  tents,  the  zouave,  "Lizzie,"  and  the  varied  men- 
agerie, we  certainly  are  assuming  the  aspect  of  a  traveling 
circus. 

J  lily  3 
On  the  road  into  Verdun  this  morning,  George  End  saw 
a  man  killed  by  the  shock  of  a  "210."  The  "Germs"  were 
attacking  Thiaumont  again  when  a  shell  exploded  just 


SECTION  ONE 


beside  the  road,  but  without  touching  the  man,  who  was 
killed  simply  by  the  shock. 

July  4 
Imbrie  is  certainly  a  ''scream."  He  remarked  to-day  that 
on  going  out  on  his  run  to  the  poste  the  road  was  O.K., 
but  coming  back  he  saw  a  fresh-killed  horse.  He  said: 
''Now  that's  the  sort  of  a  thing  that  causes  one  to  stop 
and  reflect,  but  I  didn't.  I  jammed  down  both  the  levers 
and  did  my  reflecting  at  forty  miles  an  hour."  When 
Francklyn  came  in  and  said  "to  be  careful"  on  a  certain 
road,  Imbrie,  with  his  usual  cheerfulness,  remarked: 
"Careful !  careful !  Good  Lord,  how 's  anybody  going  to  be 
careful?  If  we  wanted  to  be  careful,  we  should  have  been 
careful  not  to  leave  America." 

A  Gas  Barrage 

July  II 
Many  new  dead  horses  along  the  road.  The  gas  gets 
them,  even  the  smallest  whiff,  and  of  course  they  have  no 
masks.  Speaking  of  gas  reminds  me  that  the  Germans 
have  been  trying  a  new  dodge  —  a  sort  of  tir  de  barrage 
of  ''77''  gas  shells.  These  shells  do  not  make  much  noise, 
but  the  gas  spreads  fast.  The  men  who  were  caught  by 
it  all  admit  that  they  had  taken  off  their  masks  for  one 
reason  or  another.  Some  get  sick  at  their  stomachs  and 
that  forces  them  to  take  off  their  masks.  It  is  not  amusing 
to  talk  to  men  who  don't  know  they  are  as  good  as  dead ! 
One  really  should  have  two  masks,  switch  from  one  to  the 
other  in  such  a  case,  not  breathing  meantime.  We  all 
have  had  another  one  issued  to  us  to-day. 

Triaucourt,  July  30 
I  HAVE  been  struck  forcibly  with  the  quiet,  restrained 
and  generally  dignified  behavior  of  the  thousands  of 
French  soldiers  camped  about  here.  They  wander  through 
the  handsome  Poincare  chateau  grounds  and  never  dis- 
turb or  injure  anything.  Bottles  of  wine  left  to  cool  in 
the  spring  are  not  touched. 

173 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Billemont,  near  Verdtm,  August  21 
We  have  worked  three  days  and  three  nights  without  any 
sleep  except  naps  snatched  in  the  cars.  There  was  the 
usual  comic  scene  with  Baylies.  Bowman  was  coming 
down  the  road  when  he  found  it  blocked  by  a  mass  of 
dead  and  wounded  horses,  and  men  all  tangled  up  with 
harness  and  wagons,  and  beside  them  one  of  our  cars.  It 
turned  out  to  be  Baylies  who  came  running  up  to  Bow- 
man, exclaiming:  ''There's  been  an  awful  mess,  Bob," 
and  Bowman,  perfectly  unthinkingly,  ejaculated,  "Good 
Lord,  what  have  you  done  now,  BayHes?"  Baylies  was 
as  sore  as  two  sticks  and  growled,  '*Ah,  where  d'  you  get 
that  stuff?"  —  his  conventional  answer  to  all  gibes.  The 
word  *'to  Baylies"  (French  '' Bayliser'')  has  been  stand- 
ardized in  Section  One  and  is  even  spreading  to  the  other 
Sections. 

August  22 
Our  greatest  difficulty  is  to  snatch  a  chance  to  sleep.  So 
far,  I  have  run  every  night  since  we've  been  here  and  I 
take  naps  at  the  poste.  Five  men  get  one  night's  sleep  in 
three.  I  take  off  my  hat  to  Roche,  who  can  curl  up  any- 
where and  sleep  peacefully.  Last  night,  for  example,  he 
got  a  very  bloody  brancard,  laid  it  under  the  bench  where 
the  blesses  sit  awaiting  their  turn  to  be  patched  up,  and 
was  sound  asleep  for  four  hours,  while  the  Boches  dropped 
"220"  marmites  around  the  poste  and  the  groans  of  the 
wounded  and  chatter  of  the  doctors  and  brancardiers  kept 
up  a  continual  disturbance.  I  've  given  up  trying  to  sleep 
in  the  abris  and  so  take  a  chance  in  the  car  outside.  At 
least  it  is  cool,  though  the  air  is  foul  with  the  odor  of 
burned  wood  and  rotting  flesh. 

A  Close  One  —  A  Crazy  Man 

August  24 
Francklyn  and  Walker  had  a  close  call  to-day.  They 
were  sitting  in  the  front  of  the  dugout  reading  a  paper, 
when  a  ''105"  high  explosive  hit  a  tree  not  five  yards 

174 


SECTION  ONE 


from  them.  Pieces  of  the  shell  smashed  into  Francklyn's 
car  and  a  shower  of  stones  knocked  the  paper  out  of 
Walker's  hand,  while  both  men  were  thrown  to  the 
ground.  Walker  says  all  that  he  remembers  was  that  some 
one  seemed  to  snatch  his  paper  away  and  knock  him 
down  at  the  same  time,  and  he  found  himself  crawling 
under  his  car,  while  Gyles  made  one  long  slide  for  the 
dugout  entrance. 

Verdun,  August  25 
I  CARRIED  a  crazy  man  this  morning.  I  found  him  wander- 
ing aimlessly  around  Verdun  with  a  nasty  hole  in  his 
head  and  tried  to  get  him  into  the  car;  but  he  kept  in- 
sisting he  was  too  heavy.  Finally,  with  the  aid  of  a  couple 
of  soldiers  we  made  him  get  aboard,  though  he  murmured 
all  the  time,  ''Je  suis  trap  lourd,  je  suis  trop  lourdy 

August  27 
On  our  last  round  to-day  I  carried  a  well-educated  poilu 
about  forty  years  of  age  who  paid  the  American  Ambu- 
lance many  compliments.  He  said  the  soldiers  of  France 
would  not  forget  the  debt  they  owed  us.  This  man 
had  rifle  bullets  through  both  hands.  He  said  he  and 
another  soldier  ''got  the  drop"  on  four  Boches,  who  put 
up  their  rifles  and  yelled  '^ Kamerad^^  in  token  of  sur- 
render. Then  when  the  Frenchmen  let  down  their  sighted 
guns  and  beckoned  them  to  come  in,  the  Boches  suddenly 
opened  fire,  wounding  my  man.  But  his  partner  and  a 
machine-gun  squad  wiped  out  the  four  dirty  curs  before 
they  could  play  any  more  of  their  foul  tricks. 

Vic  White  says  the  attack  was  only  partially  successful. 
He  tells  how  one  Boche  was  blown  in  three  pieces  high 
above  the  tree  tops,  when  two  of  the  pieces  fell  rapidly, 
but  the  third  came  drifting  down  slowly.  It  turned  out 
to  be  the  Boche's  overcoat  which  had  been  ripped  right 
off  him  by  the  explosion. 

September  5 
We  have  now  a  big  White  truck  which  carries  eighteen 
assis  at  a  time  —  a  great  help,  as  it  takes  the  place  of 

175 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


more  than  three  cars.  When  it  toppled  over  the  bank  re- 
cently, there  were  seven  French  wounded  sitting  on  one 
side  and  eight  Boches  on  the  other  side.  As  the  French 
were  on  the  up  side,  they  fell  on  the  Boches  who  thought 
they  were  being  attacked  again!  It  was  quite  a  job  to  get 
them  all  extricated..  But  apparently  the  mix-up  did  little 
harm  to  any  one. 

I  carried  a  regular  pousse  cafe  of  a  load  this  afternoon, 
—  a  Boche,  an  Englishman,  a  Senegalese,  a  Martiniquais, 
and  a  Frenchman,  with  an  American  driving. 

Verdun,  September  7 
It  certainly  is  a  satisfaction  to  note  the  contrast  in  the 
comments  at  the  front  concerning  the  American  Ambu- 
lance from  those  to  which  one  is  forced  to  listen  in  Paris 
and  other  cities  far  from  the  lines.  Here  the  soldiers  can't 
praise  us  enough  and  the  same  is  true  of  the  officers  and 
even  of  the  priests.  Many  soldiers  make  it  a  point  to  salute 
the  ambulances  when  they  catch  sight  of  the  now  familiar 
cars  and  uniform,  because  they  have  heard  of  the  quick- 
ness and  of  the  comfortable  springs,  —  so  different  from 
the  ordinary  type  of  camion  ambulance.  ^^ Ah,  c'est  les 
volontaires!  Bon!''  is  a  common  phrase  from  a  wounded 
man. 

September  9 
Last  night  the  commander  of  the  214th  arrived  with  his 
regiment  to  relieve  the  67th.  We  carried  his  body  down 
this  morning.  He  had  n't  been  at  the  front  three  hours 
before  a  shell  got  him. 

September  11 
Section  One  cited  by  order  of  the  Army  Corps.  This  puts 
us  "top  dog"  of  all  the  foreign  Sections. 

La-Gran ge-aux-Bois,  September  15 
To-day  the  Section  moved  to  the  so-called  front  again, 
but  in  the  Argonne  this  time  —  to  this  little  place  named 
Sainte-Menehould,  where  Louis  XVI  was  kept  by  the 

176 


SECTION  ONE 


revolutionists  when  he  was  caught.  I  saw  the  room  in  the 
town  hall  w^here  he  was  prisoner. 

September  i8 
To-day  I  took  three  joy- riding  officers  into  Sainte-Mene- 
hould,  where  they  stayed  for  a  couple  of  hours  and  came 
back  with  two  live  chickens,  which  I  was  told  to  carry 
over  to  the  car,  just  like  "Jimes  in  the  ply,"  because  it 
looked  ''odd"  for  them  to  do  it.  However,  it's  amusing 
and  I  don't  give  a  hang  anyway,  as  we  are  here  to  help 
the  French. 

September  27 
TisoN  is  a  great  fellow,  —  only  about  six  feet  four  inches 
high!  When  he,  Culby,  and  Roche  come  into  a  cafe  the 
whole  conversation  stops  —  everybody  turns  to  see  the 
giants.  Pity  we  have  n't  still  got  Lathrop,  for  then  there 
would  be  twenty-five  feet  of  America  represented  by 
four  men. 

September  30 
The  Salonikans  left  to-day  and  Francklyn  took  little 
"Vic"  with  him,  which  I  think  peeved  Section  One 
almost  as  much  as  the  loss  of  the  men.  "Vic"  had  come 
to  be  considered  our  mascot  and  knew  us  all  well.  He 
would  associate  with  no  one  else.  Peter  Avard  picked  him 
up  at  Vic-sur-Aisne  about  a  year  ago  when  he  was  only 
a  few  weeks  old.  The  pup  ahvays  enjoyed  going  up  to  the 
firing-line,  riding  cheerfully  on  the  front  seat  or  on  the 
hood.  The  poilus  and  brancardiers  all  knew  him,  and 
petted  and  fed  him.  I  believe  "Vic"  has  been  under  fire 
more  often  than  any  one  of  us. 

November  27 
It's  astonishing  how  everybody  trusts  everybody  else 
out  here.  The  Frenchmen  give  us  money  to  buy  them 
wine,  tobacco,  send  telegrams  and  so  on;  and  we  leave 
all  our  belongings  lying  around  loose  and  they  never 
touch  them.  Of  course  it  would  n't  be  safe  to  do  this  with 

^77 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Senegalese,  and  on  a  highway  where  the  troops  are  pass- 
ing ;  but  in  the  Hnes  nobody  touches  any  one  else's  things. 

Domhasle,  April  13,  1917 
This  afternoon  General  Herr,  the  commander  of  the 
Sixteenth  Army  Corps,  inspected  us.  We  were  introduced 
to  him  individually  and  he  said  some  very  complimentary 
things,  remarking  that  with  the  entry  of  America  into 
the  war  "the  combat  would  be  shortened."  Amen,  I  say. 

April  14 
Flynn  took  Lidden  to  the  Esnes  poste.  On  their  way,  at 
*'the  bad  corner,"  two  shells  dropped  right  close  to  them 
on  the  road,  leaving  several  big  holes  in  the  car,  and 
ripping  the  whole  back  out  of  Lidden's  coat!  Surely  a 
remarkable  escape,  and  "some"  experience  for  a  brand- 
new  man  on  his  first  appearance  on  the  firing-line.  He 
had  to  remain  at  the  poste  for  twenty-four  hours,  too! 

Berry- au-Bac  —  Craonne 

Muizon,  April  17 
Our  orders  came  to  roll  at  7  p.m.  and  the  whole  Section 
went  out.  We  handled  the  wounded  from  Berry-au-Bac 
and  Craonne.  There  were  heavy  fighting  and  heavy  losses. 
The  receiving  hospital,  which  is  far  to  the  rear,  was  so 
full  that  w^e  had  to  w^ait  four  and  five  hours  before  the 
cars  could  be  unloaded,  and  the  wounded,  naturally, 
suffered  terribly. 

April  29 
This  has  been  an  interesting  day.  Word  came  that  A. 
Piatt  Andrew  was  to  be  decorated  with  the  Legion  of 
Honor.  General  Rageneau,  General  Nivelle's  second,  the 
head  of  the  entire  Automobile  Serv^ice,  and  so  many  other 
"stripers"  that  it  reminded  one  of  Sing-Sing,  turned  up. 
The  cars  were  formed  in  a  hollow  square  in  the  chateau 
courtyard,  and  some  two  hundred  troops,  beside  "us  vol- 
unteers," fell  in  before  them.  Section  One  had  been  se- 

178 


r    f. 


SECTION  ONE 


lected  as  the  oldest  Section  in  the  Field  Service,  and 
Andrew's  Section  as  well.  The  day  was  perfect.  Mr. 
Andrew  arrived  and  presented  us  with  our  new  Section 
Flag,  with  the  croix  twice  starred  on  it,  and  the  names  of 
the  battles  in  which  we  had  served:  Dunkirk,  Ypres, 
Verdun,  Somme,  Argonne,  Aisne,  Champagne  —  some 
eight  or  ten  names.  We  were  introduced  to  the  General 
individually;  and,  after  his  speech,  some  of  the  older  men 
were  invited  into  the  chateau  to  drink  the  health  of 
France  and  the  United  States;  Sponagle,  Woodworth, 
Kurtz,  Stockwell,  and  I  were  chosen.  As  it  happened, 
the  big  guns  were  roaring  straight  ahead,  behind,  and  all 
around  us.  In  addition  Boche  aviators  chose  the  moment 
to  drop  bombs  on  Muizon  (our  town)  and  the  anti-air- 
craft batteries  were  going  full  tilt.  One  bomb  fell  into  the 
Vesle  right  near  our  tent.  We  had  been  swimming  in  the 
stream  but  a  short  time  before.  It  was  a  splendid  mise-e7i- 
scene  for  such  a  military  ceremony. 

May  15 
We  have  organized  two  baseball  teams,  —  the  "Back 
and  Forths"  and  the  "Here  and  Theres."  We  have  games 
every  day,  some  of  them  most  exciting.  We  have  quite  an 
audience  of  poilus,  too.  Of  course,  the  playing  is  rather 
weird,  but  we  get  a  lot  of  fun  out  of  it. 

May  23 
While  we  were  playing  baseball  to-day,  the  Boches 
jumped  on  two  saucisses.  One  of  the  observers  came  down 
in  his  parachute  all  right. 

May  25 
Disaster!  All  are  plunged  in  woe!  They  have  spread 
manure  over  our  baseball  field ! ! 

Villers-Franqueux,  May  29 
Our  abris  here  are  amusingly  named.  One  is  "/e  Metro'' ; 
another  is  "  Ca  me  suffit,'*  which  the  men  pronounce  "Sam 
Suphy";  still  another,  ''Grotte  des  Coryphees,'"  etc. 

179 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Promotion  and  Duties 

Lotivois,  June  25 
Our  new  cantonment  is  at  this  place,  about  fifteen  kilo- 
metres southeast  of  Reims.  Word  has  just  come  that  I 
have  been  made  Chef,  which  carries  with  it  the  equivalent 
of  a  First  Lieutenancy  in  the  French  Army.  I  do  hope  I 
can  hold  down  this  job  properly.  It  is  a  difftcult  one,  as 
the  men  are  so  hard  to  keep  disciplined  when  they  are 
not  getting  much  work.  In  a  way,  I  am  sorry  to  be  taken 
off  my  car,  and  the  life  of  a  Section  Chief  is  rather  lonely,  as 
one  cannot  play  around  with  the  men  as  much  as  before. 
On  the  other  hand,  one  has  a  staff  car  of  one's  own,  and  a 
private  officer's  room  with  an  orderly,  and  all  that,  so 
that  one's  creature  comforts  are  fine. 

June  28 
I  FIRED  a  man  to-day.  I  hate  this  sort  of  thing,  but  it  has 
to  be  done.  I  told  him  that  we  want  up  here  only  men  who 
are  both  able  and  willing  to  work  and  that  he  seemed  to 
be  neither.  "What  have  I  done?"  he  asked.  "It's  what 
you  have  n't  done,"  I  replied  —  car  never  clean,  breaking 
minor  rules,  shamming  sickness  when  it  is  his  turn  to 
work,  and  so  on.  Everybody  says  I  was  perfectly  right, 
and  the  boys  all  seem  to  approve  the  step. 

July  2 
This  certainly  is  no  soft  job.  I  spend  most  of  my  time 
acting  as  a  bumper  between  the  Frenchmen  in  the  Sec- 
tion and  the  boys  who  insist  on  "kidding"  them.  A 
Frenchman  does  not  understand  the  American  method  of 
teasing  and  jollying,  and  gets  raving  mad,  feeling  in- 
sulted. And  so  I  spend  my  time  smoothing  over  alleged 
insults  which  were  never  meant. 

July  28 
I  HAVE  had  an  interesting  talk  with  a  French  officer  to 
whom  I  said  something  about  not  understanding  why 

180 


SECTION  ONE 


they  were  so  generous  in  conferring  Croix  de  Guerre  on 
Americans,  when  lots  of  Frenchmen,  who  had  actually 
been  in  the  trenches,  had  not  got  the  decoration.  He  re- 
plied that  that  had  nothing  to  do  with  it;  that  these 
Frenchmen  were  forced  to  go  into  the  war,  some  of  them 
very  much  against  their  will,  whereas  the  American 
Ambulance  men,  who  had  volunteered  long  before  the 
United  States  entered  the  conflict,  were  each  and  every 
one  a  small  but  vital  factor  in  bringing  America  into  the 
struggle.  Every  time  a  man  volunteered,  he  carried  with 
him  the  hopes  and  sympathies  of  all  his  relatives  and 
friends ;  and  as  the  Ambulance  grew,  so  did  the  pro- Ally 
sentiment  grow,  by  leaps  and  bounds,  in  the  United 
States. 

Haudainville,  August  I  . 
Reyi^iond,  our  French  Lieutenant,  has  had  a  funny  argu- 
ment with  the  Medecin  Chef  at  Vaux,  who  insisted  upon 
our  carrying  corpses  of  men  killed  right  around  the  poste. 
We  demurred,  saying  that  it  was  the  job  of  the  mortuary 
wagons.  Finally  we  compromised,  the  Lieutenant  agree- 
ing that  if  the  corpses  were  still  warm  ( !)  we  would  carry 
them ;  but  not  any  that  had  been  dead  a  length  of  time. 
Rather  gruesome,  that. 

August  8 
Passing  along  the  Douaumont  road  the  other  day  to  get 
one  of  our  men  out  of  a  ditch,  I  saw  a  boot  lying  on  the 
way.  I  picked  it  up  to  throw  it  out  of  the  road,  and  fopnd 
a  rotten  leg  still  in  it! 

August  9 
We  are  in  the  midst  of  the  heaviest  work  the  Section  ever 
had.  The  men  and  the  cars  are  sights  —  plastered  with 
mud  from  top  to  bottom.  No  fenders  or  side  boxes  left, 
nearly  every  car  full  of  holes  from  eclats,  and  two  of  them 
with  their  entire  sides  blown  out. 


i8i 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


An  Unexpected  Atrocity 

A7{gust  i6 
Flynn,  who  is  driving  No.  17,  a  car  "presented  by  the 
Young  Girls  of  San  Francisco,"  —  this  is  the  name  plate 
attached  to  it,  —  came  back  to-day  announcing  "another 
German  atrocity!"  "They've  been  knocking  out  'the 
Young  Girls  of  San  Francisco,' "  he  said.  And  indeed,  the 
whole  side  of  his  car  was  blown  out. 

Dallin  is  a  funny  chap.  He  likes  to  go  up  to  the  pastes, 
even  when  off  duty,  and  always  asks  to  accompany  the 
drivers.  Just  now  he  asked  to  go  with  Plow  in  the  camion- 
nette,  although  the  road  is  being  heavily  bombarded. 
They  certainly  are  a  great  bunch  of  boys!  One  could  n't 
ask  for  a  better  crowd  to  lead. 

The  cars  are  all  "marching."  That  is  due  to  Pearl,  who 
is  working  his  head  off.  He  keeps  them  going  in  spite  of 
everything  and  has  grown  a  scraggy  beard  and  worn  out 
his  clothes  in  the  doing.  But  they  go.  The  boys,  too,  are 
fine.  Hardly  any  sleep,  food  grabbed  when  they  can  get 
it,  but  they  make  good  every  time.  They  are  a  splendid 
bunch. 

August  17 
This  morning  Rice  came  in  plastered  with  mud.  It  rains 
every  day  and  the  roads  are  quagmires.  Rice,  who  has  a 
well-developed  sense  of  humor,  remarked,  "If  I  were  the 
French,  I  'd  give  the  Boches  the  damned  country  and  then 
laugh  at  them!" 

August  18 
Every  hour,  as  the  men  return  from  the  pastes,  some 
story  of  lucky  escapes  and  weird  experiences  is  brought 
in.  It  is  the  biggest  work  the  Section  has  ever  done. 

August  19 
We  are  to  be  relieved  of  the  Haudromont  paste  by  two 
French  Sections!  Some  compliment,  considering  that  only 
one  half  of  Section  One  was  working  the  paste! 

182 


SECTION  ONE 


August  22 

The  attack  has  been  an  unexpectedly  big  success.  The 
Sanitary  Service  worked  finely.  Everybody  is  praising 
the  Americans. 

August  24 
This  job  certainly  is  instructive,  if  nothing  else.  I  am 
becoming  quite  a  doctor.  I  treat  all  my  children  with  the 
medicine  chest  furnished  by  the  Field  Service.  All  the 
various  dopes  are  described  and  numbered  in  a  little  cata- 
logue. I  catechize  the  patient,  look  wise,  scratch  my  chin, 
and  then,  after  a  quick  **once  over"  of  the  catalogue, 
hand  him  out  the  pills. 

Warm  Times 

Haudainville,  August  31 
Red  Day  and  I  have  had  a  tight  squeeze  in  the.  staff  car 
here  at  this  place.  The  Germans  were  shelling  the  road 
with  '*22o's"  at  half-a-minute  intervals.  So  we  got  up  as 
close  as  we  dared,  and  then  made  a  dash  for  it  with  the 
throttle  wide  open  just  after  a  shell  had  landed.  We  made 
it  by  the  skin  of  our  teeth,  the  next  shell  falling  within 
thirty  feet  behind  us,  exactly  on  the  road.  The  shock  was 
terrific  and  our  ears  were  dulled  for  an  hour  or  more. 

September  2 
The  Boches  shelled  around  the  hospital  all  day  to-day, 
and  the  smell  is  fierce,  as  they  landed  several  of  their 
shells  in  the  graveyard.  We,  too,  get  shelled  all  day,  and 
the  avions  drop  bombs  on  us  every  clear  night.  For  the 
first  time  I  hear  the  men  hoping  for  rain !  Those  boys,  by 
the  way  have  been  wonderful.  I  never  saw  such  work  as 
they  have  been  doing.  It  far  exceeds  anything  the  Section 
has  done  before,  and  I  really  don't  see  how  they  keep  it 
up.  Of  course,  I  give  them  every  bit  of  rest  I  can,  and 
insist  upon  their  being  fed  at  all  hours,  both  day  and 
night.  It  is  putting  a  crimp  in  the  Section*s  books,  but 
it's  keeping  them  physically  fit,  anyway. 

183 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


September  6 
Little  Tapley  has  an  abcess;  so,  as  he  is  pretty  well  done 
up,  I  sent  him  down  to  Paris  for  his  Croix  and  gave  him 
two  days'  permission  to  get  his  teeth  fixed.  An  amusing 
thing  occurred  to  him  at  Bar-le-Duc,  where  he  was  buy- 
ing a  Httle  Croix  ribbon,  when  an  old  poilu,  noticing  his 
extreme  youth,  came  up  and  kissed  him!  You  may  im- 
agine Tapley's  feeHngs! 

We  are  still  hard  at  work,  and  the  men  are  still  doing 
wonderfully,  considering  the  strain  under  which  they 
have  been  for  five  weeks.  Two  of  the  cars  have  been  com- 
pletely destroyed  by  shells,  and  several  others  have  been 
badly  hit.  But  we  have  managed  to  patch  them  up  with 
bits  of  board  and  odds  and  ends.  They  don't  look  like 
ambulances,  but  they  run.  The  sides  of  one  have  simply 
been  remade  out  of  two  canvas  sleeping  bags.  Only  two 
of  the  men  have  broken  down  under  the  nerve  strain,  but 
the  others  are  getting  pretty  jumpy. 

Fords  and  Pigeons 

September  7 
The  French  Army  now  apparently  classes  Fords  with 
carrier  pigeons !  At  least  I  received  this  morning  a  letter 
from  Captain  Foix,  Intelligence  Officer  of  the  32d  Army 
Corps,  which  reads  as  follows: 

' '  I  herewith  send  you  two  crates  of  pigeons  for  General 
Riberpray's  Division,  whose  headquarters  are  in  the 
Carriere  Sud.  It  would  be  very  kind  of  you  to  deliver 
them  to  him,  on  behalf  of  the  32d  Army  Corps,  and  thus 
do  me  a  great  service,  for  our  cars  cannot  go  so  far." 

I  gave  them  to  Ned  Townsend,  and  told  him  to  "fly" 
with  them! 

Regan  pulled  "a  funny  one"  up  at  the  poste.  He  had 
some  pretty  close  calls  getting  there;  so,  as  he  had  not 
confessed  for  some  time,  he  asked  the  Lieutenant  to  let 
him  see  the  Catholic  priest.  The  Lieutenant  found  the 
priest;  but  the  latter  couldn't  understand  English  and 
Regan  knew  no  French.  Regan  then  asked  the  Lieutenant 

184 


SECTION  ONE 


to  translate  his  confession.  But  the  Lieutenant,  being  a 
CathoHc  himself,  refused,  because,  he  said,  it  was  n't  the 
proper  thing  for  a  third  party  to  hear  a  confession.  Then 
the  priest  had  a  happy  thought,  and  said  he  could  absolve, 
or  do  whatever  Regan's  sins  required,  without  under- 
standing them.  So  Regan  confessed  in  English,  and  got 
next  to  Heaven  in  good  shape,  although  the  priest  did  n't 
comprehend  a  word  Regan  said ;  and  everybody  seems  to 
have  been  satisfied. 

September  ii 
The  latest  method  to  rehabilitate  blesses,  particularly 
couches,  is  to  be  stopped  by  a  cut  road  or  a  smashed-up 
ravitaillement  train,  while  shells  are  coming  in.  Several 
of  our  men  report  remarkable  resurrections  of  this  kind. 
Couches  get  out  and  run  like  deer,  while  assis  make  regu- 
lar Annette  Kellerman  dives  into  ahris.  The  other  night 
Dix  had  to  go  up  and  down  a  line  of  dugouts  shouting 
^'Oosong  mes  blesses?  Oosong  mes  blesses?''  for  half  an 
hour,  before  he  finally  corralled  his  wounded  and  could 
proceed  on  his  way.  He  relates  that  one  of  his  couches 
actually  climbed  off  the  top  .stretcher,  all  by  himself,  and 
succeeded  in  unfastening  the  back. 

An  amusing  incident  occurred  while  I  was  fixing  things 
so  that  our  cars  could  pass  up  to  the  door  of  the  abris. 
A  tall  man  in  a  blue  cap  called  to  me,  '*Why  have  n't 
you  got  on  your  helmet?  "  Thinking  he  was  just  a  lieuten- 
ant like  the  rest  of  us,  I  shouted  back,  "How  about  your- 
self?" There  was  a  laugh  from  one  or  two  of  the  other 
''stripers"  who  were  in  the  group  with  the  tall  man,  and 
when  I  looked  up  to  see  what  they  were  laughing  at,  I 
saw  it  was  General  Riberpray  himself !  —  the  Commander 
of  the  128th  Division,  who  only  grinned  and  said  nothing. 

The  Death  of  General  Riberpray 

September  12 
General  Riberpray  was  killed  yesterday  morning.  It 
could  n't  have  been  more  than  two  hours  after  we  met. 
It  appears  that  he  went  down  the  line  and  a  shell  got  him. 

185 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


At  last,  orders  have  come  for  us  to  move.  We  leave  to- 
morrow for  Vaucouleurs. 

September  14 
Last  night,  the  English  Section  invited  the  Lieutenant 
and  me  to  dinner  and  were  mighty  nice  to  us.  They  said 
we  "had  set  them  a  pace  that  they  found  it  damned  hard 
to  follow."  Pretty  good  for  the  usually  undemonstrative 
Englishman. 

Resting  after  the  Battle 

Vaucouleurs,  September  18 
We  are  slowly  getting  over  the  recent  work.  Personally,  I 
slept  straight  through  for  twenty-four  hours.  We  have 
had  wonderful  luck  in  coming  out  of  the  offensive  virtu- 
ally intact,  at  least  as  far  as  men  go,  for  not  a  single  car 
in  the  whole  outfit  escaped  without  a  hole.  At  all  events, 
we  seem  to  have  made  quite  an  impression,  as  the  English 
Section  working  with  us  could  not  make  the  front  pastes, 
excepting  in  the  daytime,  whereas  we  made  them  day 
and  night,  on  account  of  the  lightness  of  the  Fords,  and 
the  quick-wittedness  of  our  drivers,  who  filled  up  shell- 
holes,  with  anything  handy,  as  fast  as  they  were  made. 
Often,  three  or  four  times  in  one  night,  we  would  remake 
the  road  sufficiently  for  a  Ford  to  pass  over. 

On  our  way  here  we  passed  many  American  troops  in 
training,  and  one  of  the  officers  remarked  that  he  **  never 
had  seen  such  a  looking  crew"  —  referring  to  us.  To  be 
sure,  one  half  of  the  boys  were  wearing  trousers  and  poilu 
shoes;  some  had  on  helmets,  and  all  had  a  week  or  two's 
growth  of  beard.  Every  one  was  covered  with  mud,  and 
the  cars  were  all  smashed  up  as  to  headlights,  fenders, 
radiators,  and  also  covered  with  mud  and  dozens  of  eclat 
holes.  Altogether,  it  was  a  scaly-looking  bunch  of  heroes. 

Allainville,  September  28 
The  boys  have  lots  of  fun  with  the  peasants.  They  dance 
with  the  girls,  and  jolly  them  in  great  style.  We  had  a 

186 


SECTION  ONE 


regular  party  last  night.  Several  of  the  boys  whistled  on 
pieces  of  cardboard ;  others  sang,  and  all  had  a  fine  time. 

October  4 
Section  One  has  been  cited  "by  order  of  the  Army," 
and  gets  the  Palm,  ''for  its  valiant  conduct  at  Verdun  in 
August,  1 91 7,  when  everybody  admired  its  audacity  and 
zeal  notwithstanding  the  continual  bombardment  of  the 
roads  by  large  asphyxiating  shells;  nor  was  there  any 
interruption  of  its  service,  though  suffering  severe  losses." 
The  citation  is  signed  by  General  Guillaumat. 

October  6 
Dr.  W.  p.  Gary,  Medecin  Principal,  of  the  96th  Division, 
sends  an  official  letter  to  our  Lieutenant  Re>Tnond,  in 
which  he  refers  to  our  "brilliant  personnel"  and  to  our 
"magnificent  go,  endurance,  courage,  and  devotion." 
We  feel  that  we  are  going  out  of  the  old  regime  into  the 
new  with  every  reason  to  be  proud  of  One's  record.  Per- 
sonally, I  cannot  find  words  to  express  what  I  think  of 
those  wonderful  boys.  May  the  new  Service  live  up  to 
the  old! 

William  Yorke  Stevenson  ^ 

1  Of  Philadelphia;  University  of  Pennsylvania;  served  in  Field  Service 
from  March,  1916,  to  December,  1916,  and  April,  1917,  to  the  end  of  the 
Field  Service,  when  he  was  commissioned  First  Lieutenant,  U.S.A.  Ambu- 
lance Service,  and  continued  work  with  Section  One;  author  of  At  the  Front 
in  a  Flivver  and  From  Poilu  to  Yank.  (See  Bibliography  in  the  Appendices.) 


VIII 

Summary  of  the  Section's  History  under  the 
United  States  Army 

It  was  with  a  glorious  past  that  Section  One  of  the  American 
Field  Service  was  taken  over  by  the  United  States  Army  as 
Section  625  on  the  30th  of  September,  191 7,  among  the  rolling 
fields  and  heavy  woods  of  the  Vosges  at  Aillianville,  not  so  far 
from  the  home  of  Jeanne  d'Arc. 

Further,  the  Section  was  serving  with  the  famous  69th  Di- 
vision composed  of  the  i62d,  151st,  and  129th  regiments  of  In- 
fantry and  the  268th  Artillery.  The  first  two  regiments  as 
members  of  the  42d  Division  had  been  in  the  First  Battle  of 
the  Marne  at  La  Fere  Champenoise. 

The  months  of  October,  November,  and  December,  191 7, 
the  Section  was  to  all  purposes  en  repos,  cantoned  at  Aillian- 
ville and  Beaufremont,  the  Division  being  engaged  in  teaching 
and  training,  around  Neufch^teau,  the  26th  Division  of  the 
U.S.  Army,  the  Yankee  or  New  England  Division,  which  dur- 
ing the  ensuing  year  so  magnificently  earned  its  reputation  of 
being  among  the  very  finest  American  troops. 

On  January  1 1 ,  orders  came  to  proceed  to  the  sector  of  the 
lines  in  front  of  Toul,  the  Woevre,  and  the  Section  moved  with 
the  troops  which  marched  through  the  heavy  snow.  On  suc- 
cessive nights  the  cantonments  were  Fruze,  Saulxures,  and 
Charmes  la  Cote,  and  on  January  17,  Andilly,  its  permanent 
cantonment,  was  reached.  That  night  the  Division  went  into 
the  sector  of  trenches  between  Seicheprey  and  Limey,  west  of 
Pont-a-Mousson.  On  the  i8th  of  January  the  First  Moroccan 
Division,  which  had  occupied  this  sector,  and  more  to  the  left, 
was  withdrawn  and  their  place  to  the  left  of  Seicheprey  and 
Flirey  was  filled  by  the  United  States  First  Division.  This  date 
is  notable  in  that  it  marks  the  occasion  when  American  troops 
first  took  over  what  might  be  called  their  own  sector  of 
trenches. 

During  the  next  five  months  —  for  the  69th  Division  was  in 
the  lines  here  without  a  break  for  that  period  —  Section  625 
served  the  following  pastes:  Xivray,  Beaumont,  Seicheprey, 
Poste  Saint-Victor,  Flirey,  Bois  de  la  Voisogne,  Lironville, 
Limey,  Saint-Jacques,  Pont-de-Metz,  Mamey,  Poste  Pouillot, 
Jonc  Fontaine,  and  Poste  Petain  in  the  Bois  le  Pretre.  During 

188 


SECTION  ONE 


this  period  the  evacuations  were  made  to  MInorvIlle,  Manon- 
court,  RogevIIle,  and  Toul.  As  the  U.S.  First  Division,  and 
later  the  26th  Division  which  reheved  it,  took  over  more  of  the 
lines,  the  69th  slipped  farther  and  farther  to  the  right,  until 
eventually  its  flank  lay  in  the  famous  Bois  le  Pretre  in  front  of 
Pont-a-Mousson.  On  April  13,  the  Section  cantonment  was 
moved  to  Manonville. 

It  is  true  that  this  sector  of  the  front  had  the  reputation  of 
being  "quiet,"  and  for  the  most  part  it  upheld  its  character  as 
such,  but  with  the  advent  of  the  United  States  troops  the 
whole  neighboring  line  took  on  a  more  tense  tone  and  coups-de- 
mam  for  the  purpose  of  taking  prisoners,  destroying  positions, 
and  to  test  opponents  were  more  frequently  indulged  in.  The 
whole  sector  had  hibernated  peacefully  under  the  snows  of 
winter  until  the  first  week  in  January,  but  it  was  then  rudely 
aroused  to  the  serious  business  of  the  New  Year  by  an  exten- 
sive and  successful  raid  conducted  by  the  Foreign  Legion  in 
front  of  Flirey,  Seicheprey,  and  beyond  the  war-worn  Bois  de 
Remleres.  From  the  results  of  this  raid  it  became  apparent 
that  the  front  lines  on  both  sides  were  so  lightly  held  that  a 
coup-de-mam,  to  become  effective,  must  be  conducted  on  a 
large  scale  and  penetrate  a  considerable  distance. 

The  work  the  Section  was  called  on  to  do  for  the  most  part 
was  not  difficult,  but  when,  as  here,  the  trenches  had  been  fixed 
for  over  three  years,  the  shelling  of  roads,  cross-roads,  and 
postes  de  secours,  especially  those  near  a  Poste  de  Commande- 
ment,  was  extremely  accurate,  and  during  a  coup-de-main  the 
evacuation  of  wounded  was  often  conducted  under  heavy  fire. 

More  than  passing  comment  must  be  given  the  Boche  attack 
of  April  19  against  the  I02d  Regiment  of  the  U.S.  26th  Divi- 
sion at  Seicheprey,  not  only  because  this  was  the  first  engage- 
ment of  any  size  participated  in  by  United  States  troops,  but 
because  of  the  part  Section  625  was  called  on  to  play.  The  at- 
tack was  made  at  dawn,  after  a  severe,  but  short  preliminary 
bombardment  by  over  1000  picked  Prussian  Sturmtruppen,  to 
the  right  of  Seicheprey  and  near  the  place  in  the  Bois  de  Jury 
where  the  United  States  and  French  troops  joined.  The  line 
was  pierced  and  the  village  entered  from  the  side  and  rear. 
Very  fierce  hand-to-hand  fighting  took  place  during  the  ensu- 
ing day,  and  the  enemy  eventually  retired  toward  their  own 
lines  occupying  trenches  in  and  near  the  Bois  de  Remleres. 
Here  they  were  pinned  down  by  an  enfilading  cross-fire,  but 
because  of  some  misunderstanding  or  neglect,  the  four  com- 
panies of  the  I02d  Regiment  designated  for  the  counter-attack 
failed  to  take  part  with  two  companies  of  the  French  i62d  In- 
fantry who  went  over  the  top,  and  the  enemy  were  allowed  to 

189 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


regain  their  lines  during  the  night  without  suffering  further 
losses.  Despite  the  unfaltering  gallantry  of  the  I02d  Infantry, 
this  engagement  must  be  regarded  as  a  Boche  success,  for  al- 
though the  casualties  perhaps  about  balanced,  the  raiders  gath- 
ered approximately  150  prisoners. 

On  June  4  the  Section  moved  to  Pagney-derriere-Barine  near 
Toul.  The  morning  of  June  6  the  Section  started  e7i  convoi  for 
Vitry-le-Frangois,  but  received  orders  there  to  continue.  At 
Esternay  and  Coulommiers  further  orders  kept  the  Section  en 
route,  and  three  o'clock  the  following  morning  found  it  biv- 
ouacked in  the  market-place  of  Meaux,  three  hundred  kilome- 
tres from  its  starting-point,  with  every  car  in  good  shape. 

The  civilians  were  rapidly  evacuating  Meaux,  but  the  town 
was  busy  with  the  handling  of  American  Marine  wounded  who 
were  being  brought  in  from  the  neighborhood  of  Bouresches 
and  the  Bois  de  Belleau.  That  day,  by  the  way  of  Senlis,  Creil, 
and  Clermont,  the  Ferme  la  Quadre,  near  Nointel,  was  reached, 
where  the  Section  rested  and  prepared  itself,  on  June  8.  It  was 
apparent  that  a  great  Boche  drive  was  pending,  but  the  Sec- 
tion, though  prepared,  hardly  expected  to  be  ordered  to  the 
alcrte  at  dawn  on  June  9  with  the  rumble  of  a  tremendous  bar- 
rage in  its  ears.  It  later  proved  to  be  a  terrific  attack  extending 
between  Montdidier  and  Noyon.  Toward  noon  orders  were  re- 
ceived to  proceed  to  Monchy-Humieres  behind  Lassigny  by 
the  way  of  Arsy  and  Remy.  The  roads  were  jammed  with  the 
69th  Division  going  up  in  camions  and  refugees  and  wounded 
streaming  back,  and  as  the  Section  convoy  neared  Monchy 
about  four  o'clock,  heavy  and  light  artillery  and  fragments  of 
infantry  passed  it,  hastening  to  take  up  positions  in  the  rear. 
It  was  by  no  means  a  rout,  but  even  the  most  inexperienced 
eye  could  see  that  the  enemy  was  coming  very  fast  and  that  the 
situation  w^as  uncertain  at  best.  The  cloud  of  battle  smoke  ap- 
proached rapidly  and  the  line  of  enemy  saiicisses  advanced 
steadily,  w^hile  those  of  the  French,' still  in  the  air  attached  to 
their  motor  trucks,  passed  the  convoy  bound  rearwards.  As 
Monchy  was  reached,  orders  were  given  for  the  Section  to  turn 
in  its  tracks  and  go  to  Remy,  there  to  await  further  instruc- 
tions. Along  the  return  route  elements  of  the  69th  Division 
were  going  up  across  the  fields  in  skirmish  order.  Darkness 
came,  and  still  no  orders  had  been  received  concerning  the  es- 
tablishing of  postes  de  secours,  or  as  to  the  location  of  any  units 
to  be  served.  Because  of  the  unsettled  situation.  Lieutenant 
Stevenson  determined  to  separate  the  Section.  About  half  the 
cars  were  left  at  Remy  to  await  further  orders,  and  the  re- 
mainder, under  the  direct  supervision  of  Lieutenant  Steven- 
son, went  to  the  Sucrerie  d'Apremont,  a  kilometre  behind 


190 


SECTION  ONE 


Gournay,  where  the  Lieutenant,  in  Huston's  car,  went  out  to 
estabHsh  connection  with  the  French  infantry  in  front.  By  this 
distribution  the  instant  availabiUty  of  a  part  of  the  cars  was 
assured.  During  the  latter  part  of  the  night  there  was  a 
pause  in  the  attack,  probably  due  to  the  bringing  up  of  fresh 
enemy  divisions,  but  before  dawn  it  was  renewed  violently. 
At  that  time  the  lines  ran  through  Gournay-sur-Aronde,  which 
was  held  by  a  mere  skirmish  line  of  infantry,  alone.  During 
the  next  four  days  the  struggle  surged  back  and  forth  through 
Gournay,  Ferme  la  Porte,  Ferme  de  Loge,  and  Antheuil,  the 
fortunes  of  battle  changing  so  rapidly  that  it  was  impossible 
to  be  sure  where  the  lines  or  pastes  de  secours  would  be  the 
next  hour.  Because  of  the  continuous  succession  of  attacks 
and  counter-attacks,  the  cars  served  battalion  and  regimental 
pastes  in  extremely  advanced  positions  subjected  to  machine- 
gun  and  rifle  fire.  On  the  fourth  day,  after  having  been  forced 
back  approximately  three  kilometres  since  the  morning  of  June 
lO,  the  Division  counter-attacked  heavily,  driving  the  enemy 
back  two  kilometres  and  establishing  the  line  more  firmly.  But 
for  a  week  the  fighting  was  over  a  very  irregular  front,  entirely 
in  the  open  wheat-fields  without  trenches,  or  even  camouflage 
or  concealment  for  the  "75's" ;  the  postes  served  by  the  Section 
were  often  unexpectedly  retired  or  advanced  and  the  difficul- 
ties and  the  anxieties  of  the  work  were  doubled.  It  is  difficult  to 
designate  the  postes  worked  by  the  Section  during  this  period, 
June  9  to  18,  for  temporary  postes  were  several  times  estab- 
lishediin  open  fields  or  roadside  ditches,  but  the  main  ones  are 
as  follows:  Montmartin,  Le  Moulin,  two  kilometres  in  advance, 
Sucrerie  d'Apremont,  the  roadside  behind  Gournay,  Le  Ferme 
de  Monchy,  Le  Ferme  Beaumanoir,  Monchy  village.  Chateau 
de  Monchy,  Baugy  Chateau,  Baugy  village,  and  a  roadside 
conduit  in  front  of  Baugy  near  the  Compiegne-Montdidier 
highway.  Evacuations  were  made  to  Le  Fayel,  Canly,  Cate- 
nois,  and  Estrees-Saint-Denis.  The  Section  cantonment  was 
behind  the  church  at  Remy,  the  town  being  shelled  frequently, 
and  bombed  severely  every  night  by  avio?is.  On  the  i6th  the 
Division  started  to  withdraw  from  the  lines,  moving  to  the 
right  as  it  did  so,  the  Section  being  shifted  to  Venette  on  the 
edge  of  Compiegne,  and  postes  established  at  Braisnes,  Anelle, 
and  Coudun.  On  June  20,  the  whole  Division  was  out  of  the 
line,  one  regiment  alone  being  held  in  active  reserve,  and  the 
Section  moved  back  to  Jonquieres,  serving  only  one  poste,  at 
Lachelle. 

The  following  twenty-four  days  of  light  work  was  welcome, 
not  so  much  because  of  the  rest  it  afforded  the  men,  but  be- 
cause the  Section  felt  what  was  still  ahead  of  them  and  desired 


191 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


to  be  ready  and  prepared  in  every  conceivable  way.  The  69th 
Division  had  played  the  main  part  in  stopping  what  proved  to 
be  the  last  Boche  drive  which  met  with  any  measure  of  success 
or  perceptible  advance.  The  Division  had  met  the  very  middle 
of  the  drive,  borne  its  full  force,  stopped  it,  and  then  hurled  it 
back  almost  to  the  same  position  where  it  had  first  come  to 
grips,  inflicting  almost  unprecedented  losses  on  the  three  divi- 
sions which  opposed  it.  Of  course  its  own  losses  were  heavy, 
the  Section  on  three  successive  days  evacuating  over  1500  men, 
together  with  another  150  from  the  divisions  on  either  side. 
During  the  next  three  weeks  the  regiments  were  rested  and  re- 
cruited up,  and  were  trained  for  attack  with  tanks,  the  nature 
of  their  work  in  the  future  becoming  apparent. 

The  night  of  July  4,  orders  arrived,  and  the  follow^ing  after- 
noon the  Section  moved  to  the  centre  of  the  great  forest  just 
east  of  Compiegne,  traversing  the  desolate  streets  of  that  city  in 
the  gathering  dusk.  Here  a  stop  was  made  for  two  days  near 
the  Chateau  de  Franc  Port,  where  the  Section  was  quartered  a 
week  in  191 6  on  the  way  to  the  Aisne  front.  (Later  the  enemy 
armistice  delegates  were  here  to  spend  their  first  night  w^ithin 
the  allied  lines.)  Two  days  of  solitude  followed,  unbroken  ex- 
cept by  avion  bombing,  but  noon  of  the  second  day,  July  17, 
brought  directions,  and  at  sundown  the  convoy  took  up  its 
way  through  the  aisles  of  the  forest,  reaching  Pierrefonds  be- 
fore night.  All  extra  equipment,  a  large  part  of  the  atelier,  and 
the  hiireati  were  left  in  a  house  at  the  foot  of  that  marvellous 
castle,  and  the  first  darkness  saw  the  Section  with  faces  turned 
toward  the  lines.  Early  dawn  had  been  set  with  Mortefontaine, 
twelve  kilometres  away,  as  the  rendezvous,  but  it  was  v/ith 
the  greatest  difficulty  that  the  order  was  carried  out,  for  that 
night  was  filled  with  more  muffled  activity  and  strained  anxiety 
than  the  world  will  ever  see  again.  The  road  was  jammed  with 
every  factor  of  a  vast  army,  sensed  around  rather  than  seen, 
but  revealed  momentarily  in  the  flashes;  camions,  wagons, 
caissons,  machine-gun  carts,  staff  cars,  motor-cycles,  artillery, 
little  and  big  tanks,  armored  cars,  cavalry  with  their  towering 
lances,  bicycle  detachments,  and  always  the  plodding  infantry 
in  two  endless  columns  following  the  ditches  on  either  side. 
Steadily  and  ceaselessly  this  stream  poured  forward  through 
the  black,  no  singing,  little  talking,  few  orders;  the  tramp  of 
feet  in  the  mud,  the  rattle  of  wheels,  the  throbbing  of  motors, 
the  staccato  explosions  of  the  motor-cycles,  and  the  ponderous 
clanking  of  tanks;  an  irresistible  tide  of  manhood,  poilus  and 
doughboys,  shoulder  to  shoulder  straining  toward  the  future. 
Surely  the  night  of  July  17-18  should  be  as  memorable  and 
glorious  forever  as  the  dawn  of  July  18,  the  hour  when  the 


19: 


SECTION  ONE 


forces  of  liberty  commenced  their  overwhelming  attacks,  never 
ceasing  till  the  final  victorious  peace  was  attained. 

At  the  first  break  of  day  the  Section  was  all  assembled  at 
Mortefontaine  in  time  to  see  the  attack  beyond.  Again  the 
Section  was  serving  in  the  famous  20^  Corps  d'Armee,  the  first 
it  had  ever  been  attached  to,  and  this  time  it  was  in  Mangin's 
magnificent  Tenth  Army.  As  the  battle  progressed  it  turned  as 
a  pivot  till,  instead  of  facing  east,  as  on  the  first  day,  on  August 
2,  when  Soissons  fell  before  it,  it  faced  north  on  its  whole  front. 
This  manoeuvre  required  great  skill  of  generalship  and  all  the 
brains  and  force  in  personnel  of  a  truly  veteran  organization. 

July  19  again  only  a  few  cars  were  used,  and  these  carried 
Americans,  Moroccans,  and  soldiers  of  the  Legion  as  well  as 
their  own  Division's  wounded.  No  definite  postes  were  es- 
tablished, the  wounded  being  picked  up  at  widely  scattered 
places. 

The  first  postes  de  secours  were  established  on  July  20,  in  a 
roadside  ditch  near  the  ruins  of  the  Raperie  at  a  cross-road  on 
the  route  from  Cutry  to  Saconin,  and  on  the  21st,  in  the  village 
of  Missy-aux-Bois.  Then  the  Section  commenced  real  work, 
for  the  runs  from  these  places  were  constant,  the  evacuations 
all  being  made  to  Pierrefonds,  twenty-five-odd  kilometres  to 
the  rear,  over  rough,  narrow  roads  at  all  hours  solid  with 
traffic.  The  Missy  poste  was  in  the  cellar  of  the  chateau  on  the 
northern  edge  of  the  town  and  adequately  answered  the  pur- 
pose, being  maintained  until  August  2.  But  the  Raperie  poste j 
which  lay  in  the  middle  of  some  threescore  "75's"  in  the  open 
field,  and  within  a  stone's  throw  of  an  important  cross-road, 
was  dift'erent.  It^almost  immediately  became  untenable  as  a 
place  to  retain  wounded  for  more  than  a  moment.  On  July  21, 
it  was  moved  over  a  kilometre  forward  to  a  quarry-hole  in  the 
hillside  above  the  village  of  Saconin,  from  which  the  enemy 
had  just  been  driven.  The  mouth  of  the  cave,  labelled  ''Minen- 
werfer  Hohle,"  faced  toward  the  lines  across  the  narrow  valley, 
and  was  subject  to  a  constant  and  severe  fire,  directed  not  only 
at  the  mouth  of  the  poste,  but  the  road  in  front,  and  the  loop 
of  the  road  behind  and  above.  All  postes,  with  the  exception 
of  the  one  at  Missy-aux-Bois,  were  reached  by  one  road  which 
ran  down  the  hill  past  the  Minenwerfer  Hohle,  wound  down 
through  the  little  valley,  through  the  village  of  Saconin,  curled 
up  the  opposite  side  through  the  hamlet  of  Breuil,  and  up  over 
the  crest  to  the  great  covered  quarry  beyond.  The  evacuations 
w^hich  were  made  over  this  route  were  very  numerous,  as  may 
be  assumed  from  the  fact  that  all  the  cars,  including  the 
camionnette  and  often  the  White  truck,  were  working  night  and 
day  steadily  until  the  fall  of  Soissons  on  August  2,  the  men 

193 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


snatching  minutes  of  sleep  rather  than  hours.  Missy  was 
reached  by  the  route  through  Saint-Pierre-Aigle  and  Dommiers 
to  the  Croix  de  Fer  on  the  Paris-Soissons  highway,  from  which 
a  small  road  led  diagonally  back  to  Missy. 

On  July  20,  the  Section  cantonment  moved  into  the  town  of 
Coouvres,  from  which  on  July  21  it  was  shifted  to  an  open  field 
behind  Dommiers,  where  the  kitchen  was  placed  in  the  lee  of 
a  destroyed  tank  and  the  men  slept  under  the  cars  or  in  shell- 
craters,  when  they  were  fortunate  enough  to  have  an  oppor- 
tunity. Before  this  site  could  be  made  available,  a  number  of 
bodies  had  to  be  removed  and  buried. 

The  night  of  the  22d  a  remarkable  array  of  Scotch  regi- 
ments, composing  the  15th  Division,  entered  the  lines  on  the 
right;  among  them  were  some  of  the  recognized  elite  of  the 
British  Army  —  the  Black  Watch,  the  Gordons,  the  Seaforths, 
the  Camerons,  and  the  Argyle  and  Sutherland  Highlanders. 
These  troops  went  up  to  the  skirling  of  the  pipes,  every  man 
immaculate  and  the  acme  of  military  precision  and  orderliness; 
and  after  a  week  of  terrific  attacking,  which  terminated  in  the 
triumphant  storming  of  Buzancy,  came  out  the  same  way,  un- 
ruffled and  undisturbed,  notwithstanding  extreme  losses,  every 
man  shaved  and  perfect  in  attire  and  equipment.  The  Section 
was  privileged  in  evacuating  many  —  too  many  —  of  them 
from  Missy  and  temporary  pastes  beyond  Chaudun  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Ploisy  and  Berzy-le-Sec. 

A  poste  in  the  village  of  Ploisy  was  established  July  23.  This 
was  veritably  among  the  French  machine  guns,  for  the  lines  — 
if  such  they  could  be  termed,  being  merely  an  irregular  chain 
of  isolated  and  almost  unrelated  positions  and  nests  —  ran 
barely  beyond  the  end  of  the  village.  The  cars  were  allowed 
to  arrive  only  after  dark  and  were  ordered  to  depart  before 
dawn;  but  often  dire  necessity  ruled  and  the  runs  were  made 
by  day  as  well.  So  insecure  and  vague  were  the  lines  here  that 
the  Division  aumonier  going  up  by  day  in  one  of  the  cars  and 
alighting  at  Ploisy,  walked  unwarned  into  the  enemies'  posi- 
tions a  few  hundred  feet  beyond  and  was  made  a  prisoner. 

Soissons  fell  on  August  2,  and  the  city  was  completely  cleared 
to  the  river-bank  in  short  order,  with  the  exception  of  one 
tremendously  strong  outpost  at  the  "hydraulic  pump,"  where 
the  Aisne  loops  in  passing  through.  This  was  attacked  and 
wiped  out  the  afternoon  of  August  9  after  severe  concentrated 
artillery  preparation,  the  cars  being  taken  to  within  almost  a 
stone's  throw  of  the  scene  in  the  city  streets  before  the  barrage 
started,  in  order  to  be  instantly  available  for  the  wounded. 

On  August  3  new  postes  were  established  at  Billy-sur-Aisne, 
Carriere  I'Eveque,  the  chateaux  at  Belleu  and  Septmonts, 


194 


SECTION  ONE 


Noyant,  Vignolles,  and  on  August  7  one  at  the  enormous  hos- 
pital near  the  railroad  station  in  Soissons.  There  were  other 
temporary  battalion  and  advanced  pastes  at  various  places,  a 
cave  on  the  plateau  beyond  Carriere  I'Eveque  and  two  in 
Soissons,  one  near  the  Place  de  la  Republique  and  one  in  a 
house  on  the  east  edge  of  the  city. 

The  Section  at  dawn  of  July  30  had  been  shelled  out  of  its 
cantonment  in  the  field  behind  Dommiers  and  was  fortunate 
in  being  able  to  move  back  to  the  vicinity  of  the  chateau  in 
Cceuvres  without  damage.  On  August  5,  with  the  advance  of 
the  troops,  it  took  up  quarters  in  the  village  of  Ploisy,  the 
kitchen  and  atelier  being  set  up  next  to  the  chateau  and  the 
men  and  cars  being  scattered  in  various  places,  a  precaution 
made  necessary  by  the  continual  shelling  of  the  town  itself 
and  the  numerous  batteries  surrounding  it.  The  work  of  evacu- 
ation had  been  especially  arduous  because  of  the  length  of  the 
runs  necessary  to  reach  the  hospitals.  From  July  18  to  25,  all 
evacuations  were  made  to  Pierrefonds  over  twenty  kilometres 
by  road  from  Coeuvres  alone;  on  that  day  a  small  ambulance 
was  opened  at  the  chateau  in  Coeuvres,  where  gassed  men, 
assis,  and  all  slightly  wounded  could  be  left.  About  August  5 
the  evacuations  of  couches  and  seriously  wounded  were  changed 
to  the  hospital  at  Villers-Cotterets,  more  than  twenty-five 
kilometres  from  Ploisy;  but  on  August  14,  the  Section  labors 
were  greatly  lessened  by  orders  to  evacuate  all  to  a  triage 
hospital  situated  in  a  great  cave  in  Vierzy,  barely  ten  kilo- 
metres from  Soissons  itself. 

About  this  time  one  of  the  cars  was  detached  to  accompany 
the  i62d  Regiment,  which  was  withdrawn  from  the  lines  and 
moved  over  to  the  left,  crossing  the  Aisne  at  Vic-sur-Aisne  and 
advancing  into  an  attack  as  support  to  another  division.  It 
returned  to  its  former  place  in  less  than  a  week. 

Source  of  indignation  was  the  lax  and  inexcusable  manner 
in  which  the  burying  of  the  American  dead  was  conducted. 
Despite  the  fact  that  the  ist  Division  had  been  withdrawn  from 
the  lines  on  July  23,  a  great  many  of  their  dead  lay  unburied, 
kilometres  behind  the  lines,  for  a  full  month.  The  French 
burying-parties,  made  up  of  territorials,  were  instructed  that 
the  Americans  desired  to  bury  their  own  dead,  but  despite  this, 
for  sanitary  reasons,  were  forced  hastily  to  cover  many  bodies. 
They  could  not  have  fallen  later  than  July  22,  for  the  1st 
Division  had  been  relieved  then  and  no  United  States  troops 
remained  in  this  part  of  the  line.  The  Section  was  working  des- 
perately at  the  time,  and  the  men  and  time  were  not  available 
to  give  these  unfortunates  a  decent  burial.  The  detachment  of 
the  1st  Division,  stationed  at  Mortefontaine,  for  the  purpose 


195 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 

of  properly  marking  and  of  mapping  the  locality  of  graves,  was 
immediately  notified.  The  reply  Sergeant  Day  received  when 
letting  them  know  of  these  conditions  was,  "Well,  that's  a 
pretty  hot  place  yet,  and  what's  the  use  of  risking  your  life  for 
a  dead  man?"  These  bodies  remained  untouched  till  finally 
necessity  demanded  action,  so  on  the  20th  of  August  they  were 
decently  buried  by  friendly  hands  where  they  fell  fighting 
fiercely  in  the  Greatest  Cause.  The  French  had  more  than  they 
could  do  to  take  care  of  their  own  victims,  and  to  put  away  the 
Boches,  and  the  Section  to  a  man  writhed  in  unavailing  indig- 
nation that  their  own  country's  dead  should  be  left  to  the  care 
of  hurried  foreign  hands  without  cause  or  even  excuse.  A  con- 
trast to  this  was  the  Scotch.  Future  generations  will  see  orderly, 
neat,  clean  little  cemeteries,  which  were  erected  and  com- 
pleted to  their  last  tenant  twenty-four  hours  after  the  Scotch 
were  withdrawn  from  the  lines. 

The  morning  of  August  28,  the  attack  to  cross  the  river  was 
commenced  and  a  few  hours  later  the  immediate  suburbs  of 
the  city  beyond,  including  strongholds  at  the  distillerie,  the 
briqueterie,  and  the  abattoir  were  cleared  and  a  tiny  pontoon 
bridge  laid.  The  first  vehicle  of  any  kind  to  cross  the  Aisne 
at  Soissons  or  to  the  right  was  one  of  the  Section  cars  driven 
by  Irving  Moses.  The  new  posies  de  secours  were  all  on  the  far 
bank  along  the  fringe  of  the  city,  the  briqueterie,  almost  imme- 
diately made  utterly  untenable,  the  abattoir,  and  the  Abbey 
Saint-Medard,  the  last  being  the  resting-place  of  ancient  kings 
of  France.  Attack  followed  attack,  the  flats  beyond  the  river 
were  cleared  foot  by  foot,  but  the  Boches  still  retained  the 
dominating  heights  along  the  edge  of  the  plateau,  and  every 
inch  of  every  road  was  open  to  machine-gun-fire.  Toward  the 
last  days  of  August,  the  Division  resumed  its  heavy  attacks, 
crossed  the  Aisne,  cleared  the  suburbs  of  the  city  on  the  other 
side  and  numerous  positions  in  the  valley,  stormed  up  the 
heights  to  the  plateau,  captured  Crouy,  and  put  the  enemy  to 
open  flight  across  the  plateau  top,  pursuing  them  beyond  Bucy- 
le-Long,  Vregny,  and  Pont  Rouge  toward  Vauxaillon,  being 
relieved  on  September  7  at  Moulin  de  Laffaux.  The  achieve- 
ments of  the  69th  Division  during  these  fifty-one  successive 
days  of  terrible  struggle  have  been  recognized  as  one  of  the 
most  heroic  annals  of  the  French  Army. 

The  order  for  convoy  to  Nancy  came  September  15  and  the 
Section  proceeded  to  its  destination  by  easy  stages,  stopping 
the  first  night  at  Chalons-sur-Marne  in  the  market-place,  and 
the  second  at  Vaucouleurs,  reaching  Vandoeuvre,  its  billet  on 
the  edge  of  Nancy,  the  afternoon  of  September  ij.En  route  the 
men  had  been  given  an  opportunity  for  a  hurried  glance  at  the 

196 


SECTION  ONE 


Bois  de  Belleau,  where  in  those  dark  days  of  early  June  the 
Marines  had  thrilled  the  world ;  and  a  stop  for  lunch  had  been 
made  in  Chateau-Thierry,  a  name  which  will  roll  down  the 
centuries  as  more  American  than  French. 

The  three  days  at  Vandoeuvre  were  spent  in  overhauling 
the  cars  and  re-equipping,  and  September  22  found  the  Section 
quartered  in  the  grounds  of  the  field  hospital  at  Millery  on  the 
right  bank  of  the  Moselle,  having  stopped  for  two  days  at 
Frouard  while  the  Division  slowly  took  over  the  lines  to  the 
right  of  Pont-a-Mousson,  part  of  which  was  occupied  by  the 
82d  U.S.  Division.  On  the  25th,  a  company  of  the  i62d  Regi- 
ment, and  a  company  of  the  29th  Battalion  of  Senegalese, 
joined  with  the  60th  U.S.  Infantry  Regiment  in  an  unsuccessful 
attack  along  the  right  bank  of  the  Moselle,  in  front  of  Pont- 
a-Mousson.  The  objectives  were  reached  first  by  the  United 
States  troops,  but  they  w^ere  forced  to  fall  back  sooner  than 
were  the  French,  who  held  on  until  it  was  obvious  that  their 
position  could  not  be  retained  without  entailing  too  expensive 
losses.  During  the  attack  the  Section  served  a  poste  in  the  de- 
molished site  of  a  hospital  beyond  Pont-a-Mousson,  and  during 
the  'next  few  weeks  had  cars  stationed  at  Sainte-Genevieve, 
Loisy,  and  Landremont,  from  which  various  advanced  pastes 
were  worked.  On  October  10  the  92d  Division  of  United  States 
negro  troops  relieved  the  69th  Division,  which  nevertheless  left 
its  artillery  for  additional  support  until  further  protection  could 
be  afforded.  The  Section  during  the  relief  had  the  additional 
work  of  evacuating  many  footsore  and  sick  soldiers  of  the  92d 
Division. 

Again  the  Section  spent  a  few  days  in  Vandoeuvre  and  on 
October  14,  moved  to  Eulmont,  the  Division  shifting  along 
the  lines  to  the  right.  The  sector  here  was  very  quiet,  and  the 
Section  for  some  three  weeks,  as  well  as  serving  the  69th 
Division,  took  care  of  the  165th  Division,  which  also  belongs 
to  the  32d  Corps.  Two  more  battalions  of  Senegalese  were 
added  to  the  Division.  Again  the  Section  prepared  itself  to  take 
part  in  a  tremendous  attack.  This  time  it  was  apparent,  from 
military  preparations,  that  the  attack  was  to  be  upon  a  gigantic 
scale,  dwarfing  everything  that  the  war  had  hitherto  known; 
but  the  glorious  news  of  the  signing  of  the  Armistice  intervened 
at  the  last  minute,  and  the  old  Section  flag  was  cheated  of 
another  name  to  add  to  the  immortal  ones  it  already  bore! 
Dunkirk,  Ypres,  Nieuport,  Vic-sur-Aisne,  Cappy-sur-Somme, 
Verdun,  Cote  304,  Reims,  Route  44,  Houdromont,  Douaumont, 
Seicheprey,  Monchy,  Soissons,  Crouy,  and  Pont-a-Mousson. 

Here  starts  another  phase  in  the  history  of  Section  Six- 
Twenty-Five.  As  an  American  unit  in  the  war,  dating  as  a 


197 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Section  from  the  first  days  of  1 91 5,  and  with  an  origin  from 
almost  the  first  hours  of  the  war,  it  rightfully  claims  the 
distinction  of  being  the  oldest,  the  veteran  organization,  of 
America  in  the  World  War.  The  records  show  that  from  Janu- 
ary, 1915,  to  the  signing  of  the  Armistice,  it  had  evacuated 
well  over  56,000  men.  But  now  it  turned  willing  hands  to  aid 
in  the  French  Army  of  Occupation,  the  Tenth  Army  com- 
manded by  General  Mangin. 

On  the  17th  day  of  November  the  Section  crossed  the  lines 
between  Abaucourt  and  Jallaucourt  and  slowly  travelled  with 
the  Division  through  Lorraine  into  Germany.  Stops  of  sev- 
eral days  were  made  at  Tincy,  Suisse,  Gesslingen,  Helleringen, 
and  Sulzbach,  and  finally  on  December  9,  Neunkirchen  was 
reached,  where  the  Section  remained  comfortably  quartered 
for  several  weeks.  About  the  only  incident  worthy  of  comment 
during  this  period  was  the  attempt  by  hidden  snipers  to  shoot 
Orrie  Lovell  and  Weld  while  transporting  sick  to  the  hospital. 
In  the  early  part  of  January,  the  69th  Division  was  split  up, 
the  various  regiments  returning  to  their  old  Corps,  which  fact 
left  the  Section  unattached  and  with  no  services  to  render. 
On  January  20,  orders  came  to  report  to  the  pare  at  Mayence 
and  the  130-kilometre  convoy  was  made  in  good  shape.  Bil- 
leted on  the  edge  of  Mayence  in  the  town  of  Bretzenheim,  the 
Section  waited  for  orders  to  report  to  the  U.S.  Army  Ambu- 
lance Service  Base  Camp  for  demobilization  and  return  to  the 
United  States.  A  fitting  climax  to  the  four  years'  service  came 
on  the  receipt  of  the  5th  Citation  a  Vordre  de  Varmee,  which 
carried  w^th  it  the  privilege  of  wearing  the  Croix  de  Guerre 
Fourragere,  for  the  splendid  work  of  the  past  summer  near 
Compiegne  and  around  Soissons. 

Edward  A.  G.  Wylie  ^ 

^  Of  New  York  City;  Yale;  in  S.S.U.  i,  and  Six-Twenty-Five  during 
1917-19.  The  above  is  from  a  privately  printed  History  of  Section  625. 


l£i^n  ^i-ot  C^"**  ■«■«  .^ 


<  /i/2,  rj^u^'-tj-,  (>f^ 


Section  Two 

THE  STORY  TOLD  BY 

I.  James  R.  McConnell 
II.  Leslie  Buswell 

III.  Carlyle  H.  Holt 

IV.  Henry  Sheahan 

V.  Frank  Hoyt  Gailor 
VI.  Edward  Nicholas  Seccombe 
VII.  Charles  Baird,  Jr. 
VIII.  John  R.  Fisher 
IX.  William  H.  C.  Walker 
X.  John  E.  Boit 
XL  Henry D.  M.  Sherrerd 
XII.  Harmon  ^B.  Craig 

XIII.  EwEN  MacIntyre,  Jr. 

XIV.  Edward  Nicholas  Seccombe 


SUMMARY 

Section  Two  left  Paris  for  Vittel,  the  headquarters  of  the 
French  Army  of  the  East,  in  the  middle  of  April,  1915.  It  was 
almost  immediately  assigned  to  service  in  the  region  of  Bois 
le  Pretre,  being  quartered  first  at  Dieulouard,  then  at  Pont-a- 
Mousson.  It  remained  in  this  sector,  which  at  that  time  was 
fairly  active,  for  nearly  ten  months.  In  February  of  1916,  when 
the  great  battle  of  Verdun  was  imminent,  it  was  moved  to  that 
sector,  where  it  remained  for  more  than  a  year  and  a  half.  It 
was  first  stationed  in  the  hospital  grounds  at  Le  Petit  Mont- 
hairon.  In  March  the  Section  was  attached  to  the  rapidly 
growing  hospital  at  Vadelaincourt ;  in  June  it  moved  for  a 
month  to  Bar-le-Duc;  on  June  27th  it  returned  to  Le  Petit 
Monthairon;  on  September  2  to  Rampont,  where  it  remained 
until  November  8,  leaving  on  that  date  for  Ville-sur-Cou- 
sances ;  after  two  months  of  activity  at  this  point,  the  Section 
was  sent  for  repos  to  Glorieux  near  Verdun  on  January  10, 
1917.  On  the  19th  of  the  month  the  entire  Section  started  for 
La  Grange-aux-Bois;  thence  to  Dombasle-en-Argonne  on  the 
25th  of  June,  and  on  July  30  for  repos  to  Nangois-le-Grand.  On 
August  16  the  Section  went  on  a  three  days'  repos  to  Som- 
maisne.  This  was  followed  by  a  brief  stay  at  Souhesme.  It  was 
on  September  26  at  Sivry-la-Perche  that  the  Section  enlisted 
in  the  American  Army  as  Section  Six-Twenty-Six. 


Section  Two 


Yet  sought  they  neither  recompense  nor  praise, 

Nor  to  be  mentioned  in  another  breath 

Than  their  blue-coated  comrades  whose  great  days 

It  was  their  pride  to  share,  ay!  share  even  to  death. 
Nay,  rather,  France,  to  you  they  rendered  thanks 

(Seeing  they  came  for  honor,  not  for  gain). 
Who,  opening  to  them  your,  glorious  ranks, 
Gave  them  that  grand  occasion  to  excel. 

That  chance  to  live  the  life  most  free  from  stain 
And  that  rare  privilege  of  dying  well. 

Alan  Seeger 

(From  a  poem  written  by  him  in  memory  of  American  Volunteers 
fallen  for  France,  upon  the  occasion  of  a  memorial  service  held 
before  the  Lafayette- Washington  statue  in  Paris,  May  30,  1916) 

I 

PONT-A-MOUSSON  —  I915 

Pont-a-Mousson,  August  191 5 
In  August,  191 5,  we  were  quartered  in  a  building  which 
had  not  been  occupied  since  August,  19 14.  There  were 
countless  rooms  already  furnished,  while  those  on  the 
first  floor  had  been  so  cleaned  up  that  the  Section,  which 
consisted  of  twenty- four  men,  had  ''all  the  comforts  of 
home."  There  was  a  large  mess-hall,  kitchen,  writing- 
room,  library,  general  office,  dormitory,  and  a  good  gener- 
ous vaulted  cellar  of  easy  access.  This  last  adjunct  was 
important,  for  the  town  was  one  of  the  most  frequently 
bombarded  places  in  the  line,  and  very  often  big  shells 
that  wreck  a  house  at  one  shot  made  it  advisable  to  take 
to  the  cave.  The  atelier  of  the  armurier  with  its  collection 
of  tools  and  fixtures,  now  served  as  a  perfect  automobile 
repair  shop.  We  had  also  running  water,  and,  at  first,  en- 

203 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


joyed  both  gas  and  electric  lights;  but  shells  eventually 
put  both  systems  out  of  commission.  Naturally  the  tele- 
phone line  got  clipped  every  few  days,  but  was  quickly 
repaired.  Behind  the  headquarters  was  a  gem  of  a  garden 
containing  several  species  of  roses,  and,  as  fortune  would 
have  it,  new  wicker  chairs.  At  first  all  this  seemed  too 
good  to  be  true ;  we  could  not  realize  that  such  an  amaz- 
ing combination  of  comforts  could  exist  in  the  war  zone, 
and  still  less  could  we  realize  it  when  we  looked  down 
the  street  and  saw  the  German  trenches  in  full  view  on 
the  crest  of  a  hill  fourteen  hundred  yards  distant,  where 
at  night  rifle  flashes  were  seen.  To  the  volunteers  who  had 
hibernated  and  drudged  along  at  Beauvais  some  thirty- 
five  kilometres  behind  the  line  until  April,  191 5,  it  was  a 
realization  of  hopes  beyond  belief. 

The  men  in  the  Section  had  been  billeted  in  Dieulouard, 
eight  kilometres  below,  at  houses  where  they  slept  when 
not  on  night  duty;  but  when  the  French  Section  was  or- 
dered away,  a  number  of  the  men  elected  to  move  up  to 
Pont-a-Mousson  and  were  given  excellent  quarters  in  the 
various  vacated  residences  of  the  town.  Why,  instead  of 
just  rooms  they  had  suites,  and  the  commander  had  an 
apartment  in  the  show  place  of  the  town! 

The  Daily  Service 

The  regular  daily  service  was  arduous  enough  in  itself, 
for  one  was  either  on  duty  or  on  call  all  of  the  time.  Then 
there  were  periods  following  an  attack  when  the  men 
rested  neither  day  nor  night,  when  one  got  food  only  in 
snatches,  and  frequently  days  at  a  time  would  pass  when 
one  was  on  such  continuous  service  that  there  was  never 
a  chance  to  undress.  Then  there  was  the  other  aspect,  the 
ever-present  danger  of  being  killed  or  wounded  that  one 
is  under  at  the  front,  for  Section  Two  worked  and  lived 
in  a  heavily  shelled  area. 

In  spite  of  the  danger,  the  American  ambulanciers  ren- 
dered their  service  with  fidelity  at  any  and  all  times.  A 
French  captain  once  remarked  that,  no  matter  how  much 

204 


SHELLS   BREAKING   ON  THE   COTE  DE    MOUSSON 


WATCHING  AN  AEROPLANE   DUEL   IN   PONT-A-MOUSSON 


SECTION  TWO 


the  town  was  being  shelled,  our  little  field  ambulances 
could  be  seen  slipping  down  the  streets,  past  corners,  or 
across  the  square  on  their  way  to  and  from  the  postes  de 
secours  back  of  the  trenches.  I  remember  one  day  that 
was  especially  a  test  of  the  men.  The  town  was  being 
shelled,  and  it  happened  that  at  the  same  time  there  were 
many  calls  for  cars.  The  Germans  were  paying  particular 
attention  to  the  immediate  surroundings  of  our  head- 
quarters, and  the  shells  were  not  falling  according  to  any 
time-table  known  to  us.  A  call  came  in,  and  the  "next 
man"  was  handed  his  orders.  He  waited  until  a  shell 
burst  and  then  made  a  run  for  it.  Several  cars  had  been 
out  on  calls  and  were  due  to  return.  There  was  no  way 
of  giving  them  a  warning.  We  heard  the  purr  of  a  motor, 
and  almost  immediately  the  sing  of  a  shell  very  close  to 
us.  There  was  an  instant  of  anxiety,  an  explosion,  and 
then  we  were  relieved  to  see  the  car  draw  up  in  line,  the 
driver  switch  off  his  motor  and  run  for  our  entrance, 
holding  his  order  card  in  front  of  him  as  he  ran,  and  just 
as  he  entered  another  shell  hit  near  by.  It  reminded  me 
strongly  of  a  scene  in  a  "ten-twenty-thirty"  martial  play. 
All  the  hero  needed  was  some  fuller's  earth  to  pat  off  his 
shoulders  when  he  came  inside. 

The  Routine 

It  is  difficult  to  take  any  one  day's  work  and  describe  it 
in  the  attempt  to  give  an  adequate  picture  of  the  routine 
of  the  Section,  for  with  us  all  days  were  so  different. 

Six-thirty  is  the  time  for  bread  and  coffee,  and  the  long 
table  in  the  flag-decorated  mess-room  begins  to  fill. 
Mignot,  our  comrade  orderly,  is  rushing  to  and  fro  plac- 
ing bowls  in  front  of  those  arriving,  and  practising  on 
each  the  few  English  expressions  he  has  picked  up  by 
association  with  us.  Two  men  of  the  Section  enter  w^ho 
look  very  tired.  They  throw  their  caps  or  fatigue  hats  on 
to  a  side  table  and  call  for  Mignot.  They  have  been  on 
all-night  service  at  a  hamlet  where  the  most  active  postes 
de  secours  are  located. 

205 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


"Much  doing  last  night? "  asks  one  of  the  crowd  at  the 
table. 

"Not  much.  Had  only  sixteen  altogether." 

"Anything  stirring?" 

"Yes;  Fritz  eased  in  a  few  shrapnels  about  5.30,  but 
did  n't  hurt  any  one.  You  know  the  last  house  down  on 
the  right-hand  side?  Well,  they  smeared  that  with  a  shell 
during  the  night." 

"By  the  way,"  continues  the  man  in  from  night  serv- 
ice, addressing  himself  to  one  across  the  table,  "Canot, 
the  artilleryman,  was  looking  for  you.  Says  he's  got  a 
ring  for  you  made  out  of  a  Boche  fuse-cap,  and  wants  to 
know  if  you  want  a  Geneva  or  Lorraine  cross  engraved 
on  it." 

The  men  in  the  Section  leave  the  room  one  by  one  to 
take  up  their  various  duties.  There  are  some  whose  duty 
it  is  to  stay  in  reserv^e,  and  these  go  out  to  work  on  their 
cars.  Others  [are  on  bureau  service,  and  they  remain 
within  call  of  the  telephone.  Two  leave  for  the  town  eight 
kilometres  below,  where  their  job  is  to  evacuate  from  the 
two  hospitals  where  the  wounded  have  been  carried  down 
the  day  and  night  before. 

Friends  among  the  Frenchmen 

In  front  of  four  or  five  of  the  low  masonry  houses  a 
Red  Cross  flag  is  hung,  designating  the  posies  de  secours 
where  the  w^ounded  are  bandaged  and  given  to  the  ambu- 
lances. An  American  car  is  backed  up  in  front  of  one,  and 
the  khaki-clad  driver  is  the  centre  of  interest  for  a  group 
of  soldiers.  Some  he  knows  well,  and  he  is  carrying  on  a 
cheerful  conversation  with  them.  It  is  surprising  what 
a  number  of  French  soldiers  speak  English;  and  there 
are  hundreds  who  have  lived  in  England  and  in  the 
States.  Some  are  even  American  citizens  who  have  re- 
turned to  fight  for  la  belle  France,  their  mother-country. 
I  have  met  waiters  from  the  Cafe  Lafayette,  chefs  from 
Fifth  Avenue  hotels,  men  who  worked  in  New  York  and 
Chicago  banks,  in  commission  houses,  who  own  farms  in 

206 


SECTION  TWO 


the  West,  and  some  who  had  taken  up  their  residence 
in  American  cities  to  live  on  their  incomes.  It  seems  very 
funny  to  be  greeted  with  a  ''Hello  there,  old  scout!"  by 
French  soldiers. 

**Well,  when  did  you  come  over?"  asks  the  driver. 

"In  August.  Been  through  the  whole  thing." 

''Where  were  you  in  the  States?" 

"  New  York ;  and  I  am  going  back  there  when  it  is  over. 
Got  to  beat  it  now.  So  long.  See  you  later." 

A  few  companies  of  soldiers  go  leisurely  past  on  their 
way  up  to  the  trenches,  and  nearly  every  man  has  some- 
thing to  say  to  the  American  driver.  Five  out  of  ten  will 
point  to  the  ambulance  and  cry  out  with  questionable 
but  certainly  cheerful  enough  humor,  "Save  a  place  for 
me  to-morrow,"  or,  " Be  sure  and  give  me  a  quick  ride!" 
Others  yell  our  greetings,  or  air  their  knowledge  of  Eng- 
lish. "  Camarade  americain,'^  said  in  a  very  sincere  tone 
and  followed  by  a  grip  of  the  hand,  has  a  very  warm 
friendship  about  it.  Yes,  you  make  good  friends  that  way. 
Working  along  together  in  this  war  brought  men  very 
close.  You  found  some  delightful  chaps,  and  then  .  .  . 
well,  sometimes  you  realized  you  had  not  seen  a  certain 
one  for  a  week  or  so,  and  you  inquire  after  him  from  a 
man  in  his  company. 

"Where  is  Bosker,  or  Busker?  —  I  don't  know  how 
you  pronounce  it.  You  know,  tall  fellow  with  corporal's 
galons  who  was  always  talking  about  what  a  good  time 
he  was  going  to  have  when  he  got  back  to  Paris." 

"He  got  killed  in  the  attack  two  nights  ago  —  pauvre 
gars,'"  is  the  answer.  .  .  . 

Night  Duty  and  an  Added  Sector 

A  kilometre  up  the  climbing  winding  road  was  a  lone 
poste  de  secours  in  the  woods  just  off  the  highway.  The 
approach  and  the  place  itself  were  often  shelled.  There 
were  times  when  the  drivers  were  under  a  seriously  heavy 
fire  on  night  duty;  times  when  trees  were  shattered  and 
fallen  across  the  road  and  huge  craters  made  in  the  soft 

207 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


earth  of  the  adj  acent  fields.  A  kilometre  beyond  was  another 
point  of  call,  and  from  there  one  could  look  directly  into 
one  of  the  most  fought-over  sections  of  ground  in  the  long 
line  from  the  sea  to  Belfort.  It  is  a  bit  of  land  that  before 
the  war  was  covered  with  a  magnificent  forest.  Now  it  is  a 
wilderness  whose  desolation  is  beyond  description. 

Section  Two  performed  its  duties  so  well  that  the  work 
of  an  adjacent  division  w^as  given  to  it,  and  the  little 
cars  began  rolling  past  the  last-mentioned  poste  de  secours 
over  to  the  exposed  plain  beyond  and  into  the  zone  of  its 
newly-acquired  activities.  The  American  cars  literally 
infested  the  roads  in  the  day.  They  buzzed  along  on  calls 
to  the  postes,  returned  from  evacuations,  and  kept  so 
busy  trying  to  accelerate  the  work  that  a  casual  observer 
might  have  imagined  that  a  whole  division  had  been 
annihilated  overnight.  There  are  times  when  men  die  in 
the  ambulances  before  they  reach  the  hospitals,  and  I 
believe  nearly  every  driver  in  the  Section  has  had  at 
least  one  distressing  experience  of  that  sort.  Early  one 
morning  there  was  an  urgent  call  for  a  single  wounded. 
The  man's  comrades  gathered  around  the  little  car  to 
bid  their  friend  good-bye.  He  was  terribly  wounded  and 
going  fast.  "See,"  said  one  of  them  to  the  man  on  the 
stretcher,  ''you  are  going  in  an  American  car.  You  w^ill 
have  a  good  trip,  old  fellow,  and  get  well  soon.  Good-bye 
and  good  luck!"  They  forced  a  certain  cheerfulness,  but 
their  voices  were  low  and  dry,  for  they  saw  death  creep- 
ing into  the  face  of  their  comrade.  The  driver  took  his 
seat  and  was  starting  when  he  was  asked  to  wait.  ' '  Some- 
thing for  him,"  they  said.  When  the  car  arrived  at  the 
hospital,  the  man  was  dead.  He  was  cold  and  must  have 
died  at  the  start  of  the  trip.  The  driver  regretted  the 
delay  in  leaving.  Why  had  they  asked  him  to  wait?  Then 
he  saw  that  the  ambulance  was  covered  with  sprigs  of 
lilac  and  little  yellow  field  flowers.  The  men  knew  that 
the  car  would  serv^e  as  a  hearse. 

Americans  have  a  faculty  of  adapting  themselves  to 
any  service  they  may  be  called  upon  to  perform,  and 

208 


SECTION  TWO 


many  times  we  undertook  on  our  own  initiative  various 
missions  that  were  not  in  strict  accord  with  our  military 
duties.  For  instance,  after  a  bombardment,  we  very  often 
transported  dead  civihans.  During  one  bombardment  a 
considerable  number  of  women  and  children  were  killed. 
A  couple  of  the  American  ambulances  were  on  the  spot 
immediately  after,  and  the  men  were  silently  going  about 
their  sad  work.  The  little  children  who  were  accustomed 
to  cry  out  to  us  as  we  passed,  gathered  around  holding 
to  their  mothers'  trembling  hands.  They  said,  ''Ameri- 
cains,''  when  they  saw  the  khaki  uniforms;  but  on  this 
occasion  their  tone  was  hushed  and  sad  instead  of  loud 
and  joyous,  and  had  a  surprised  note,  as  if  they  had  not 
expected  to  see  the  Americans  at  such  a  task. 

Curiosity  and  Prudence 

It  took  us  a  long  time  to  learn  the  value  of  prudence.  At 
first  during  the  bombardments  we  would  rush  to  the 
street  as  soon  as  a  shell  landed  and  look  to  see  what 
damage  had  been  done.  Then,  when  some  eclats  had 
sizzed  uncomfortably  close  to  our  persons,  we  became  a 
little  more^  discreet  and  waited  awhile  before  venturing 
out.  But  experience  finally  discounted  the  popularity  of 
orchestra  seats  during  an  exhibition  in  which  shells  larger 
than  ''  77's  "  appear. 

The  men  did  what  was  asked  and  gladly,  for  there  was 
no  work  more  worth  while  than  helping  in  some  way,  no 
matter  what,  this  noblest  of  all  causes.  One  did  not  look 
for  thanks,  —  there  was  reward  enough  in  the  satisfac- 
tion the  work  gave ;  but  the  French  did  not  let  it  stop  at 
that.  The  men  from  the  trenches  were  surprised  that  we 
had  voluntarily  undertaken  such  a  hazardous  occupa- 
tion, and  expressed  their  appreciation  and  gratitude  with 
almost  embarrassing  frequency.  ''You  render  a  great 
service,"  said  the  officers,  and  those  of  highest  rank  called 
to  offer  thanks  in  the  name  of  France.  It  is  good  to  feel 
that  one's  endeavors  are  appreciated,  and  encouraging  to 
hear  the  words  of  praise;  but  when,  at  the  end  of  an 

209 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


evacuation,  one  drew  a  stretcher  from  the  car,  and  the 
poor  wounded  man  lying  upon  it,  who  had  never  allowed 
a  groan  to  escape  during  a  ride  that  must  have  been  pain- 
ful, with  an  effort  holds  out  his  hand,  grasps  yours,  and, 
forcing  a  smile,  murmurs, '' Merci,''  —  that  is  what  urged 
you  to  hurry  back  for  other  wounded,  to  be  glad  that 
there  was  a  risk  to  one's  self  in  helping  them,  and  to  feel 
grateful  that  you  have  had  the  opportunity  to  serve  the 
brave  French  people  in  their  sublime  struggle. 

Extracts  from  McConnell's  Journal 

October  26,  19 15 
The  head  of  the  Sanitary  Service  of  the  French  Govern- 
ment, accompanied  by  three  generals,  made  a  tour  of 
inspection  of  all  the  units  in  this  sector  to-day. 

November  14 
We  had  the  first  snow  of  the  season  to-day.  All  the 
morning  it  snowed  and  covered  the  fields  and  trees  with 
a  thick  coating  of  white.  In  the  roads  it  melted  and  they 
became  stretches  of  yellow  slush. 

November  16 
We  received  a  telephone  message  in  the  morning  asking 
us  to  go  to  the  mairie  to  meet  a  high  official.  Four  of  us 
went  over.  A  number  of  large  cars  were  drawn  up  in  the 
Place.  One  bore  the  flag  of  the  President  of  France.  We 
were  to  meet  Poincare.  We  formed  a  line  inside  the  sand- 
bag barricaded  arcade.  The  President  and  his  entourage 
passed.  He  stopped  in  front  of  us.  ''One  finds  you  every- 
where," he  said;  "you  are  indeed  devoted."  Then  he 
shook  hands  with  each  of  us  and  passed  on.  We  wandered 
on  down  the  arcade  to  watch  the  party  go  down  into  the 
shelled  area  of  the  town.  A  sentry  standing  near  us  en- 
tered into  conversation.  He  addressed  himself  to  Pottle. 
"Did  he  shake  hands  with  you?"  he  asked.  "Oh,  yes," 
replied  Pottle,  who  had  taken  the  whole  thing  as  a  matter 
of  course.  ''Bon  Dieu!"  said  the  sentry,  "he  is  n't  a  bit 
proud,  is  he?" 

210 


SECTION  TWO 


November  25 

Thanksgiving  —  and  we  celebrated  It  In  the  American 
style.  We  had  purchased  and  guarded  the  turkeys,  and 
they  were  prime.  One  of  our  men  did  wonders  with  the 
army  food,  and  it  is  doubtful  if  any  finer  Thanksgiving 
dinner  was  eaten  any  place  In  the  world  than  the  one  we 
enjoyed  to-day,  only  two  thousand  yards  from  the  Huns. 

November  30 
The  writer,  with  two  others  of  the  Section,  was  crossing 
the  Place  after  dark.  As  we  passed  the  breach  in  the  sand- 
bag barricaded  roads  we  were  lighted  up  by  the  yellow 
glare  coming  from  the  shops  next  to  the  mairie.  The 
sentry  there  on  duty  saw  us.  "Pass  along,  my  children, 
and  good  luck  to  you;  you  are  more  devoted  than  we 
are,"  he  cried  out  to  us.  I  was  startled  by  the  voice  out  of 
the  darkness  and  the  surprising  remarks.  I  glanced  to- 
wards the  sentry's  post,  but  the  light  blinded  me  and  I 
could  not  see  him.  From  his  voice,  however,  I  knew  he  was 
old  —  one  of  the  aged  territorials. 

"Oh,  no,"  I  answered,  for  lack  of  anything  better  to 
say. 

"Yes,  you  are.  We  all  thank  you.  You  are  very  de- 
voted," he  replied. 

"No,  not  that,  but  I  thank  you,"  I  said,  and  we  were 
swallowed  up  in  the  darkness.  Then  I  was  sorry  one  of  us 
hadn't  gone  back  to  shake  hands  with  the  kind-hearted 
old  fellow.  It  seemed  to  me  that  it  was  the  spirit  of  France 
speaking  through  him,  voicing,  as  usual,  her  appreciation 
for  any  well-intentioned  aid,  and  that  we  should  have 
replied  a  little  more  formally* 

James  R.  McConnell  ^ 

^  Of  Carthage,  North  Carolina;  University  of  Virginia;  was  in  the  Field 
Service  during  1915;  subsequently  went  into  the  Lafayette  Flying  Corps 
and  was  shot  down  near  Ham,  while  on  a  reconnaissance  during  the  Somme 
advance  in  July,  1916.  The  advancing  troops  found  his  body  several  days 
later. 


II 

PONT-A-MOUSSON  —  BoiS  LE  PrETRE 

Pont-d-Mousson,  June  17,  1915 
This  is  a  dear  little  town  with  about  eight  thousand 
inhabitants.  After  breakfast  I  was  asked  by  one  of  the 
men  if  I  would  like  to  look  about.  We  turned  to  the  left 
and  entered  the  famous  Bois  le  Pretre  where  the  artillery 
had  not  been.  Here  was  an  officers'  cemetery,  a  terrible, 
sad  sight,  —  six  hundred  officers'  graves.  Close  by  were 
also  the  graves  of  eighteen  hundred  soldiers.  The  little 
cemetery  was  quite  impressive  on  the  side  of  this  lovely 
green  hill  with  the  great  trees  all  around  and  the  little 
plain  wood  crosses  at  each  grave.  As  we  waited,  a  broken- 
down  horse  appeared  with  a  cart-load  of  what  looked 
like  old  clothes,  but  which  was  really  des  morts.  I  had 
never  seen  a  dead  body  until  that  moment.  It  was  a 
horrible  awakening  —  eight  stiff,  mangled,  armless  bodies 
—  all  men  like  ourselves  with  people  loving  them  some- 
where, all  gone  this  way.  A  grave  had  been  dug  two 
metres  deep,  large  enough  to  hold  sixteen.  One  by  one 
they  were  lowered  into  the  grave. 

Pont'd-Mousson,  Monday,  June  28 
I  HAD  to  go  to  Auberge  Saint-Pierre  at  about  two  o'clock 
this  morning.  It  was  a  sad  trip  for  me.  A  boy  about  nine- 
teen had  been  hit  in  the  chest  and  half  his  side  had  gone. 
"  Tr^s  presse,'*  they  told  me.  And  as  we  lifted  him  into  the 
car,  by  a  little  brick  house  which  was  a  mass  of  shell-holes, 
he  raised  his  sad,  tired  eyes  to  mine  and  tried  a  brave 
smile.  I  went  down  the  hill  as  carefully  as  I  could  and  very 
slowly,  but  when  I  arrived  at  the  hospital,  I  found  I  had 
been  driving  a  hearse  and  not  an  ambulance.  It  made  me 
feel  very  badly  —  the  memory  of  that  faint  smile  which 
was  to  prove  the  last  effort  of  some  dearly  loved  youth. 

212 


.«^-..*^.^ 


«!. 


'■I8*v-l..a 


V/-*;-v, 


ON  THE  ROAD  TO  BOIS  LE  PRETRE 


FONTAINE   DU  PERE  HILARION,  A  SPRING   IN  BOIS  LE  PRETRE  WHERE 

FRENCH  AND   GERMAN    SOLDIERS    FRATERNIZED   IN 

THE   EARLY   DAYS   OF   THE   WAR 


SECTION  TWO 


All  the  poor  fellows  look  at  us  with  the  same  expression 
of  appreciation  and  thanks ;  and  when  they  are  unloaded 
it  is  a  common  thing  to  see  a  soldier,  probably  suffering 
the  pain  of  the  damned,  make  an  effort  to  take  the  hand 
of  the  American  helper.  I  tell  you  tears  are  pretty  near 
sometimes. 

Tuesday,  5  p.m.,  July  6 
I  CARRIED  over  forty  wounded  yesterday  a  distance  of  a 
hundred  and  sixty  kilometres  and  at  nine  o'clock  turned 
in ;  to  be  waked  up  at  two  o'clock  to  go  to  Auberge  Saint- 
Pierre.  The  Major  was  there  to  receive  us,  and  so  inter- 
ested and  appreciative  is  he  that  any  one  of  us  would  do 
anything  for  him.  Just  as  I  was  starting  down  with  a 
full  load  I  found  I  had  picked  up  a  nail,  and  a  puncture 
was  the  order  of  the  day.  Two  fellows  ran  for\vard;  ex- 
plained that  in  peace  time  they  were  chauffeurs,  and  re- 
fused to  let  me  work  on  it;  while  the  Major  made  me  sit 
on  a  fallen  tree  by  the  roadside,  smoke  a  cigarette,  and 
talk  to  him.  We  are,  of  course,  mere  soldiers,  but  to  be 
treated  so  kindly  and  so  thoughtfully  makes  us  feel  that 
we  must  go  on  forever! 

Later  I  had  a  German  wounded  cotiche  given  me  and  I 
probed  out  the  fact  that  there  were  some  six  or  eight 
French  waiting  to  be  taken.  '*0h,  but  he  is  severely 
wounded  —  take  him  first ! "  I  shall  always  remember 
that  in  France  the  German  went  before  the  less  wounded 
Frenchmen ! 

A  Tribute 

Monday 
The  Governor,  or  Prefect,  of  the  Department  of  Lorraine, 
sent  us  from   Nancy,   for  July  Fourth,   the  following 
tribute : 

"On  this  day,  when  you  celebrate  your  national  inde- 
pendence, at  the  same  hour  that  France  in  violent  combat 
defends  her  independence  against  an  enemy  whose  mad- 
ness for  domination  threatens  the  liberty  of  all  nations, 

213 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


and  whose  barbarous  methods  menace  civlhzation,  I 
send  you  the  expression  of  the  profound  friendship  of  the 
French  for  your  great  and  generous  nation;  and  seize  this 
occasion  to  assure  you  once  more  of  the  deep  gratitude 
of  the  people  of  Lorraine  for  the  admirable  devotion  of 
all  the  members  of  the  American  Ambulance  of  Pont-a- 
Mousson." 

Pont-a-M oils  son,  July  26 
Our  whole  Section  has  been  cited  by  order  of  the  Divi- 
sion. Here  is  the  translation: 

"The  American  Ambulance,  composed  of  volunteers, 
friends  of  our  country,  has  been  continually  conspicuous 
for  the  enthusiasm,  courage,  and  zeal  of  all  its  members; 
who,  regardless  of  danger,  ha\'e  worked  without  rest  to 
save  our  wounded,  whose  affection  and  gratitude  they 
have  gained." 

Two  Tales 

Pont-a-Mousson,  August  15 
Yesterday  was  a  red-letter  day  for  me.  The  American 
mail  arrived!  I  was  brought  back  to  actualities  by  the 
voice  of  a  young  French  soldier  of  about  twenty-one  who 
stood  beside  me : 

"You  have  just  got  some  letters?" 

"Yes,  not  even  opened  them  yet." 

"All  those!  You  are  to  be  married,  perhaps?" 

"No,  mon  ami.''' 

"Surely  it  is  your  mother,  then,  who  has  written  you  so 
often." 

"Only  this  one  is  from  her,"  I  answered.  And  then  a 
strange  silence  fell.  I  did  not  feel  like  speaking,  for, 
glancing  up,  I  noticed  that  he  was  still  looking  at  that 
one  letter  in  my  hand.  Then,  after  fumbling  for  a  few 
minutes  in  his  uniform,  he  pulled  out  a  packet  of  earth- 
stained  letters,  and  said : 

"These  were  from  my  mother;  but  I  can't  look  for  any 
more.  She  died  last  month." 

214 


SECTION  TWO 


September  4 
A  SAD  thing  happened  the  other  day  to  a  friend  of  mine, 
a  poilii  who  has  been  helping  me  to  get  specimens  of  per- 
fect, empty  shells.  I  had  many  a  long  talk  with  him.  He 
used  to  like  to  tell  me  about  his  girl  and  how  happy  they 
were  together  before  the  war,  and  how  the  day  peace 
was  declared,  he  was  going  to  marry  her.  Lately  I  had 
noticed  he  looked  depressed,  and  one  day  I  found  out  the 
reason.  The  postman  came  to  the  door.  He  looked  at  my 
friend,  who  had  become  silent,  and  shaking  his  head, 
said,  ''Pas  encored  My  friend  became  very  white,  and 
presently  confessed  to  me  that  he  had  had  no  letters  for 
six  weeks.  A  few  days  after,  I  saw  him  again  and  asked  if 
he  had  heard  from  her.  He  said  "No,"  very  sullenly,  and 
later,  over  a  glass  of  beer,  mentioned  that  his  father  had 
written  him  that  she  had  been  misbeha\  ing  herself.  The 
poor  fellow  seemed  stunned  with  the  news.  After  vainly 
trying  to  cheer  him  up,  I  went  back  to  dinner.  The  next 
morning  I  did  not  see  him,  but  the  following  morning  I 
was  at  headquarters  when  an  urgent  call  came  for  an 
ambulance.  My  car  happened  to  be  just  going,  so  I  took 
the  trip.  "Where  is  the  house?"  I  asked.  "Just  over  there 
where  the  man  is  waving."  It  was  the  house  of  my  friend. 
Need  I  end  the  story?  A  broken  man,  who  had  worked 
valiantly  for  twelve  months  under  hellish  conditions,  to 
defend  his  country,  had  shot  himself !  \\^e  lifted  him  on  to 
a  stretcher  and  I  sped  away.  Life  was  nearly  extinct.  I 
followed  him  into  the  operating-room,  where  he  opened 
his  eyes,  and  I  think  he  recognized  me.  His  lips  moved  — 
but  I  don't  know. 

The  Spirit  of  the  French 

September  8 
Yesterday  I  had  a  sudden  call  to  fetch  three  badly 
wounded,  one  of  whom  was  in  great  pain  from  a  wound 
in  the  back,  and  the  slightest  jostle  or  bump  I  knew 
would  cause  him  great  agony.  The  doctor,  pointing  to 
one  of  the  other  two,  said,  "You  must  get  him  to  the 

215 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


operating-room  as  quickly  as  you  can."  "But,"  I  an- 
swered, ''I  dare  not  go  fast,  this  poor  chap  is  in  such  a 
bad  condition."  The  doctor  shrugged  his  shoulders.  But 
the  man  who  was  suffering  had  heard.  '*Go  as  fast  as  you 
can,  my  friend;  it  won't  kill  me! "  I  did  so,  and  the  bumps 
were  bad.  The  poor  fellow  could  not  help  uttering  cries 
from  time  to  time.  But  before  I  arrived  at  Belleville,  the 
cries  had  ceased,  as  the  great  pain  had  made  him  uncon- 
scious, while  the  badly  wounded  man  had  died.  "  Cest  la 
guerre, ''  said  the  doctor  to  whom  I  told  the  story,  as  he 
washed  his  hands  for  the  operations. 

The  other  day  I  paid  a  visit  to  a  neighboring  hospital, 
where  one  young  fellow  about  my  own  age  had  had  his 
left  leg  amputated.  I  sat  by  his  bed  and  chatted  with  him. 
He  told  me  of  his  wife  —  they  had  been  a  year  and  a  half 
married  —  and  of  his  child  whom  he  had  not  yet  seen. 
He  was  so  very  eager  that  somehow  the  pity  of  it  made 
me  turn  aside  for  a  second,  and  look  out  of  the  window. 
Quick  of  perception,  out  went  his  hand  to  mine.  '*0h, 
she  will  understand,  camarade''  he  said,  smiling;  "she 
will  love  me  just  the  same  —  she  is  a  Frenchwoman." 

How  can  one  help  caring  for  France  and  French  people, 
they  have  such  a  keen  appreciation  of  the  value  of  sym- 
pathy and  gratitude?  Here  in  the  midst  of  torturing  death, 
they  at  least  are  cheerful,  and  having  put  aside  the  bar- 
rier of  selfishness  are  wholly  simple  and  direct  in  their 
human  relations.  The  fact  that  on  every  side  there  is  daily 
evidence  of  this  attitude,  in  spite  of  so  bitter  and  costly 
a  struggle,  is  high  proof  of  the  fineness  of  their  civilization. 

Leslie  Buswell  ^ 


1  A  young  Englishman,  who  was  In  the  service  during  several  months  of 
1915.  Author  of  Ambulance  No.  10.  (See  the  Bibliography  at  the  end  of 
Vol.  III.) 


Ill 

A  Night  of  Shelling 

Pont-d-Mousson,  May  20,  191 5 
One  evening,  about  7.30,  after  the  Germans  had  been 
firing  on  this  place  and  the  neighboring  villages  for  some 
hours,  I  was  called  to  Bozeville,  a  village  on  the  road  to 
Montauville  consisting  of  a  small  cluster  of  one-story 
brick  and  frame  buildings  constructed  in  1870  by  the 
Germans  for  their  soldiers.  When  I  reached  this  place 
it  was  on  fire,  and  the  Germans,  by  a  constant  fusillade 
of  shrapnel  shells  in  and  around  the  buildings  and  on  the 
roads  near  them,  were  preventing  any  attempt  being 
made  to  extinguish  the  fire.  To  drive  up  the  narrow  road, 
with  the  burning  houses  on  one  side  and  high  garden  wall, 
thank  Heaven,  on  the  other,  hearing  every  few  seconds 
the  swish-bang  of  the  shells,  was  decidedly  nervous  work 
and  anything  but  peaceful.  But  after  picking  up  the 
wounded,  I  returned  here  where  conditions  were  much 
worse.  At  this  time  the  Germans  were  throwing  shells  of 
large  calibre  at  the  bridge  over  the  Moselle,  and  to  reach 
the  hospital  to  which  I  was  bound,  it  was  necessary  to 
take  the  road  which  led  to  this  bridge  and  turn  to  the 
left  about  a  hundred  yards  before  coming  to  it.  Just  as  I 
was  about  to  make  this  turn,  two  shells  struck  and  ex- 
ploded in  the  river  imder  the  bridge.  There  was  a  terrific 
roar  and  two  huge  columns  of  water  rose  into  the  air, 
seemed  to  stand  there  for  some  seconds  and  the  next 
instant  spray  and  bits  of  wood  and  shell  fell  on  and 
around  us.  A  minute  later  I  turned  into  the  hospital  yard, 
where  the  effect,  in  the  uncertain  and  fast-fading  light, 
was  ghostly,  as  earlier  in  the  evening  a  shell  had  exploded 
in  the  yard  and  thrown  an  even  layer  of  fine,  power-like 
dust  over  everything.  It  resembled  a  shroud  in  effect,  for 
nothing  disturbed  its  even  surface  except  the  crater-like 

217 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


hole  made  by  the  shell.  On  one  side  of  the  yard  was  the 
hospital,  every  window  broken  and  its  walls  scarred  by 
the  pieces  of  shells ;  in  the  middle  was  the  shell-hole,  and 
on  the  other  side  was  the  body  of  a  dead  hrancardier, 
lying  on  his  back  with  a  blanket  thrown  over  him,  which 
gave  a  particularly  ghastly  effect  to  the  scene,  for  what 
was  left  of  the  daylight  was  just  sufficient  to  gleam  upon 
his  bald  forehead  and  throw  into  relief  a  thin  streak  of 
blood  which  ran  across  his  head  to  the  ground.  Needless 
to  say  I  left  the  place  as  quickly  as  possible. 

To  THE  Victor  belong  the  Spoils 

Another  scene  which  I  do  not  think  I  will  soon  forget 
happened  just  after  a  successful  French  attack  and  shows 
war  in  a  little  different  light,  with  more  of  the  excitement 
and  glory  which  are  supposed  to  be  attached  to  battle. 
It  occurred  at  Montauville,  a  straggly  little  village  of  one 
and  two-story  stone  and  plaster  houses  built  on  the  two 
sides  of  the  road,  situated  on  a  saddle  which  connects  one 
large  hill  on  one  side  of  it  with  another  large  hill  on  the 
other  side  of  it.  The  village  is  used  as  a  dSpot  and  resting- 
place  for  the  troops  near  it.  On  this  particular  day  the 
French  had  attacked  and  finally  taken  a  position  which 
they  wanted  badly,  and  at  this  time,  just  after  sunset, 
the  battle  had  ceased  and  the  wounded  were  being  brought 
into  the  poste  de  secoiirs.  The  tints  of  the  western  sky 
faded  away  to  a  cloudless  blue  heaven,  marked  here  and 
there  by  a  tiny  star.  To  the  south  an  aeroplane  was  cir- 
cling like  a  huge  hawk  with  puffs  of  orange-tinted  shrap- 
nel smoke  on  all  sides  of  it.  In  the  village  the  soldiers  were 
all  in  the  streets  or  hanging  out  of  the  windows  shouting 
to  one  another.  The  spirits  of  every  one  were  high,  and 
they  well  might  be,  for  the  French  had  obtained  an  advan- 
tage over  the  Germans  and  had  succeeded  in  holding  it. 
At  this  moment  a  French  sergeant  entered  the  town  at 
the  lower  end  and  walked  up  the  street.  At  first  no  one 
noticed  him;  then  a  slight  cheer  began,  and  before  the 
man  had  advanced  a  hundred  yards  the  soldiers  had 

218 


SECTION  TWO 


formed  a  lane  through  which  he  strode.  He  was  a  big 
fellow,  his  face  smeared  with  blood  and  dirt  and  his  left 
arm  held  in  a  bloody  sling,  while  on  his  head  was  a  Ger- 
man helmet  with  its  glinting  brass  point  and  eagle.  He 
swaggered  nearly  the  entire  length  of  the  village  through 
the  shouting  line  of  soldiers,  gesticulating  with  his  one 
well  arm  and  giving  as  he  went  a  lively  account  of  what 
had  happened.  Thereupon  some  one  started  the  Marseil- 
laise and  in  a  few  minutes  all  were  singing.  I  have  heard 
football  crowds  sing  after  a  victory  and  other  crowds 
indulge  in  song,  but  I  have  never  listened  to  such  wild 
exultation  as  on  this  occasion.  It  was  tremendous.  I  wish 
the  Germans  could  have  heard  it.  Perhaps  they  did,  for 
they  were  not  so  far  away  and  the  sound  seemed  to  linger 
and  echo  among  the  hills  for  some  minutes  after  the  last 
note  had  been  struck. 

Carlyle  H.  Holt  ^ 


1  Of  Hingham,  Massachusetts;  Harvard,  '12.  Served  in  Section  Two  from 
February  to  August  of  19 15.  The  above  are  extracts  from  two  letters  writ- 
ten to  Field  Service  Headquarters. 


H-w<wJ 


IV 

Leaving  Pont-a-]\Iousson 

It  gave  us  rather  a  wrench  to  leave  Pont-a-Mousson. 
The  Section  had  been  quartered  there  since  April,  191 5, 
and  we  were  attached  to  the  quaint  town  and  to  the 
friends  we  had  made  there.  The  morning  of  our  departure 
was  warm  and  clear.  Walking  along  the  convo}'  which 
had  been  formed  in  the  road  before  our  villa,  came  the 
poiliis  who  shook  hands  with  each  condncteiir.  ''An  revoir, 
Monsieur.''  ''Ate  revoir,  Paul.''  ''Bomie  chajice,  Pierre." 
We  took  a  last  look  at  the  town  which  had  sheltered  us 
during  the  most  dramatic  moments  of  our  lives.  Above 
the  tragic  silhouette  of  a  huddle  of  ruined  houses  rose  the 
grassy  slopes  of  the  great  ridge  crowned  by  the  Bois  le 
Pretre,  the  rosy  morning  mists  were  lifting  from  the  shell- 
shattered  trees,  and  a  golden  sun  poured  down  a  spring- 
like radiance.  Suddenly  a  great  cloud  of  grayish  white 
smoke  rose  over  the  haggard  wood  and  melted  slowly 
away  in  the  northeast  wind;  an  instant  later,  a  rever- 
berating boom  signalled  the  explosion  of  a  mine  in  the 
trenches.  There  was  a  shrill  whistle,  our  lieutenant  raised 
his  hand,  and  the  convoy  swung  down  the  road  to  Dieu- 
louard.  ''Au  revoir,  les  AmericainsI"  cried  our  friends  — 
a  little  mud-slopped,  blue-helmeted  handful,  that  waved 
to  us  till  we  turned  the  corner.  ''Ate  revoir,  les  Ameri- 
cainsI" 

Late  in  the  afternoon  we  were  assigned  quarters  in  the 
barracks  of  Bar-le-Duc,  where  we  found  an  English 
Section  that  had  been  as  suddenly  displaced  as  our  own. 
Every  minute  loaded  camions  ground  into  town  and  dis- 
appeared towards  the  east,  troops  of  all  kinds  came  in, 
flick,  flack,  the  sun  shining  on  the  barrels  of  the  lebels,  a 
train  of  giant  mortars,  mounted  on  titanic  trucks  and 
drawn  by  big  motor  lorries,  crashed  over  the  pa\^ements 

220 


.^#-Ui«A****^ 


"^ 


CAMOUFLAGE   OX   A   ROAD   GIVES   AT   BEST    AN   UNCERTAIN 
SENSE  OF   SECURITY" 


THE   REMAINS   OF   A   RAILROAD    STATION    WHlCli    SERVKH 
AS   A   "POSTE"   near  VERDUN 


SECTION  TWO 


and  vanished  somewhere.  Some  of  our  conducteurs  made 
friends  with  the  EngHsh  drivers,  and  swapped  opinions 
as  to  what  was  in  the  wind.  One  heard,  ''Well,  those 
Frenchies  have  got  something  up  their  sleeve.  We  were 
in  the  battle  of  Champarng,  and  it  began  just  like  this." 
Round  us,  rising  to  the  full  sea  of  the  battle,  the  tide 
of  war  surged  and  disappeared.  At  dusk  a  company  of 
dragoons,  big  helmeted  men  on  big  horses,  trotted  by, 
their  blue  mantles  and  mediaeval  casques  giving  them 
the  air  of  crusaders.  At  night  the  important  corners  of 
the  streets  were  lit  with  cloth  transparencies,  with  ''Ver- 
dun" and  a  great  black  arrow  painted  on  them.  Night 
and  day,  going  as  smoothly  as  if  they  were  linked  by 
an  invisible  chain,  went  the  hundred  convoys  of  motor 
lorries.  There  was  a  sense  of  something  great  in  the  air 
—  a  sense  of  apprehension.  ''Les  Boches  vont  attaqtier 
Verdun.'' 

To  Petit-Monthairon  —  Near  Verdun 
On  the  2 1  St  the  order  came  for  us  to  go  to  Petit-Mont- 
hairon (the  Boches  had  made  their  first  attack  that 
morning,  though  this  we  did  not  then  know),  and  near  by 
we  found  a  rather  unlovely  eighteenth-century  chateau 
standing  in  a  park  built  out  on  the  meadows  of  the  Meuse. 
The  flooded  river  flowed  round  the  dark  pines,  and  at 
night  one  could  hear  the  water  roaring  under  the  bridges. 
The  chateau,  which  had  been  a  hospital  since  the  begin- 
ning of  the  war,  reeked  with  ether  and  iodoform ;  pasty- 
faced,  tired  attendants  unloaded  mud,  cloth,  bandages, 
and  blood  that  turned  out  to  be  human  beings ;  an  over- 
wrought Medecin  Chef  screamed  contradictory  orders  at 
everybody  and  flared  into  crises  of  hysterical  rage. 

Ambulance  after  ambulance  came  from  the  lines  full 
of  clients;  kindly  hands  pulled  out  the  stretchers  and 
bore  them  to  the  wash-room,  which  was  in  the  cellar  of 
the  dove-cote,  in  a  kind  of  salt-shaker  turret.  Snip,  snap 
went  the  scissors  of  the  brancardiers  who  looked  after  the 
bath,  —  good  souls  these  two  —  who  slit  the  uniforms 

221 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


from  mangled  limbs.  The  wounded  lay  naked  in  their 
stretchers  while  the  attendant  daubed  them  with  a  hot 
soapy  sponge  and  the  blood  ran  from  their  wounds 
through  the  stretcher  to  the  floor  and  seeped  into  the 
cracks  of  the  stones.  A  lean,  bearded  man  closed  his  eyes 
over  the  agony  of  his  opened  entrails  and  died  there. 
Somebody  casually  tossed  a  blanket  over  the  body. 

Outside,  mingling  with  the  roaring  of  the  river,  came 
the  great,  terrible  drumming  of  the  bombardment.  An 
endless  file  of  troops  were  passing  down  the  great  road. 
Night  came  on.  Our  ambulances  w^ere  in  a  little  side 
street  at  right  angles  to  the  great  road,  their  lamp  flares 
beating  fiercely  on  a  little  section  of  the  great  highway. 
Suddenly,  plunging  out  of  the  darkness  into  the  intense 
radiance  of  the  acetylene  beams,  came  a  battery  of 
"75's,"  the  helmeted  men  leaning  over  on  the  horses,  the 
guns  rattling  and  the  harness  clanking,  a  swift  picture  of 
movement  that  plunged  again  into  darkness.  And  with 
darkness,  the  whole  horizon  became  brilliant  with  can- 
non fire. 

*'The  Horseshoe  of  Fire" 

We  were  well  within  the  horseshoe  of  German  fire  that 
surrounded  the  French  lines.  It  was  between  midnight 
and  one  o'clock,  the  sky  deep  and  clear,  with  big  ice-blue 
winter  stars.  We  halted  at  a  certain  road  to  wait  our 
chance  to  deliver  our  wounded.  It  was  a  melee  of  beams 
of  light,  of  voices,  of  obscure  motions,  sounds.  Refugees 
went  by,  decent  people  in  black,  the  women  being  escorted 
by  a  soldier.  One  saw  sad,  harassed  faces.  A  woman  came 
out  of  the  turmoil  carrying  a  cat  in  a  canary  cage;  the 
animal  swept  the  gilded  bars  with  curved  claws,  and  its 
eyes  shone  black  and  crazily.  Others  went  by  pushing 
baby  carriages  full  to  the  brim  with  knickknacks  and 
packages.  Some  trundled  a  kind  of  barrow.  At  the  very 
edge  of  earth  and  sky  was  a  sort  of  violet-white  inferno, 
while  the  thousand  finger-like  jabs  of  the  artillery  shot 
unceasing  to  the  stars,  and  the  great  semi-circular  aureole 

222 


SECTION  TWO 


flares  of  the  shorter  pieces  were  seen  a  hundred  times  a 
minute.  Over  the  moorland  came  a  terrible  roaring  such 
as  a  river  might  make  tumbling  through  some  subter- 
ranean abyss.  A  few  miles  below,  a  dull  ruddy  smoul- 
dering in  the  sky  told  of  fires  in  Verdun.  The  morning 
clouded  over,  the  dawn  brought  snow.  Even  In  the  day- 
time the  great  cannon  flashes  could  be  seen  in  the  low, 
brownish  snow-clouds. 

On  the  way  to  Monthairon,  two  horses  that  had  died 
of  exhaustion  lay  in  a  frozen  ditch.  Ravens,  driven  from 
their  repast  by  the  storm,  cawed  hungrily  in  the  trees. 

We  slept  in  the  loft  of  one  of  the  buildings  that  formed 
the  left  wing  of  the  courtyard  of  the  castle.  To  enter  it, 
we  had  to  pass  through  a  kind  of  lumber-room  on  the 
ground  floor  in  which  the  hospital  coflins  w^ere  kept. 
Above  was  a  great  dim  loft,  rich  in  a  greasy,  stably 
smell,  a  smell  of  horses  and  sweaty  leather,  the  odor  of 
a  dirty  harness  room.  At  the  end  of  the  room,  on  a  kind 
of  raised  platform,  which  ran  along  the  wall  over  our 
heads,  was  the  straw  In  which  we  lay  —  a  crazy,  sagging 
shelf,  covered  with  oily  dust,  bundles  of  clothes,  knap- 
sacks, books,  candle-ends,  and  steel  helmets.  All  night 
long  the  horses  underneath  us  squealed,  pounded,  and 
kicked. 

I  see  in  the  lilac  dawn  of  a  winter  morning  the  yellow 
light  of  an  officer's  lantern,  and  hear  the  call,  "Up,  boys, 
there's  a  call  to  Bar-le-Duc."  The  bundles  In  the  dirty 
blankets  groan;  unshaven,  unwashed  faces  turn  tired 
eyes  to  the  lantern;  some,  completely  worn  out,' lie  In  a 
kind  of  sleepy  stupor,  while  a  wicked  screaming  whistle 
passes  over  our  heads,  and  the  shell,  bursting  on  a  near-by 
location,  startles  the  dawn. 

Later,  the  back  of  the  attack  was  broken,  and  we  began 
to  get  a  little  rest.  But  during  the  first  week  our  cars 
averaged  runs  of  tw^o  hundred  miles  a  day,  over  roads 
chewed  to  pieces,  and  through  very  difficult  traffic.  In 
several  of  the  villages  there  were  unusually  formidable 
shell  gauntlets  to  be  run. 

223 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Loneliness  —  The  Voice  of  the  Shell 

It  is  night.  You  can  imagine  how  lonely  it  is  here  under 
the  black,  star-swept  sky,  the  houses  only  masses  of  regu- 
lar blackness  in  the  darkness,  the  street  silent  as  a  dune 
in  the  desert  and  devoid  of  any  sign  of  human  life.  Muffled 
and  heavy,  the  explosion  of  a  torpedo  inscribes  its  solitary 
half-note  on  the  blank  lines  of  the  night's  stillness.  I  go 
up  to  my  room,  and  sigh  with  relief  as  my  sulphur  match 
boils  blue  and  breaks  into  a  short-lived  yellow  flame. 
Shadows  are  born,  leaping  and  rising,  and  I  move  swiftly 
towards  my  candle-end,  the  flame  catches  and  burns 
straight  and  still  in  the  cold,  silent  room.  The  people  who 
lived  here  were  very  religious;  an  ivory  Christ  on  an 
ebony  crucifix  hangs  over  the  door,  and  solemn-eyed,  the 
pure  and  lovely  head  of  Jeanne  d'Arc  stands  on  my 
mantel.  What  a  marvellous  history,  hers!  I  think  it  the 
most  beautiful  mystic  tale  in  our  human  annals. 

Silence,  sleep,  the  crowning  mercy.  A  few  hours  go  by 
and  morning  comes.  There  is  a  call,  ^^ Monsieur  Shin,  — ■ 

un  couche  a "  I  wake.  The  night  clerk  of  the  bureau 

is  standing  in  the  doorway.  An  electric  flashlight  in  his 
hand  sets  me  a-blinking.  I  dress,  shivering  a  bit,  and  am 
soon  on  my  way.  The  little  gray  machine  goes  cautiously 
on  in  the  darkness,  bumping  over  shell-holes,  guided  by 
the  iridescent  mud  of  the  last  day's  rain.  A  bright  flash 
illuminates  the  road.  A  shell  sizzles  overhead.  I  reach  the 
poste  de  secours  and  find  a  soldier  in  the  roadway.  More 
electric  hand-lamps.  Down  a  path  comes  a  stretcher  and 
a  man  wounded  in  arm  and  thigh.  We  put  him  into  the 
voiture,  cover  him  up,  and  away  I  start  on  my  long,  dark 
ride  to  the  hospital,  a  lonely  nerv^e-tightening  ride. 

The  voice  of  war  is  the  voice  of  the  shell.  You  hear  a 
perfectly  horrible  sound  as  if  the  sky  were  made  of  cloth 
and  the  Devil  were  tearing  it  apart,  a  screaming  undu- 
lating sound  followed  by  an  explosion  of  fearful  violence, 
bang!  The  violence  of  the  affair  is  what  impresses  you, 
the  suddenly  released  energy  of  that  murderous  burst. 

224 


SECTION  TWO 


When  I  was  a  child  I  used  to  wander  around  the  shore 
and  pick  up  hermit  crabs  and  put  them  on  a  plate.  After 
a  little  while  you  would  see  a  very  prudent  claw  come  out 
of  the  shell,  then  two  beady  eyes,  finally  the  crab  in 
propria  persona,  I  was  reminded  of  that  scene  on  seeing 
people  come  cautiously  out  of  their  houses  after  a  shell 
had  fallen,  peeping  carefully  out  of  doorways,  and  only 
venturing  to  emerge  after  a  long  reconnoitring. 

The  Religion  of  the  Trenches 

A  NEW  religion  has  arisen  in  the  trenches,  a  faith  much 
more  akin  to  Mahomet  than  to  Christ.  It  is  a  fatalism  of 
action.  The  soldier  finds  his  salvation  in  the  belief  that 
nothing  will  happen  to  him  until  his  hour  comes,  and  the 
logical  corollary  of  this  belief  — •  that  it  does  no  good  to 
worry  —  is  his  rock  of  ages.  It  is  a  curious  thing  to  see 
poilus  —  peasants,  artisans,  scholars  — •  completely  in  the 
grip  of  this  philosophy.  The  real  religion  of  the  front  is  the 
philosophy  of  Mahomet.  Death  has  been  decided  by  Fate, 
and  the  Boches  are  the  unbelievers.  After  all,  Islam  in  its 
great  days  was  a  virile  faith,  the  faith  of  a  race  of  soldiers. 

A  Letter  from  Verdun 

The  other  day  I  climbed  to  the  top  of  Vauban's  citadel, 
and  looked  out  over  the  forts,  the  buff-brown  moorlands 
and  the  crumbling  villages.  To  the  west,  a  battle  was 
taking  place,  dull-colored  smoke  lay  close  to  the  ground, 
and  now  and  then  a  shell  would  break,  a  pin  point  of 
light,  in  the  upper  fringes  of  the  haze.  What  in  Heaven's 
name  is  to  be  the  end  of  all  this?  What  is  the  world  to  be 
like  which  will  some  day  follow  this  cruel  welter  of  sav- 
agery and  pain?  You  know  that  I  reject  the  pacifist  case 
because  I  see  war  as  part  of  the  web  of  life ;  it  is  competi- 
tion distilled  to  its  ultimate  essence,  and  will  not  be  done 
away  with  until  international  competition  is  under  some 
rigorous  and  centralized  control.  Yet  how  can  such  a 
despotism  of  power  be  established,  and  by  whom?  Cer- 
tainly war  cannot  be  eliminated  from  the  mechanism  of 

225 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


civilization  by  a  folding  of  hands  and  a  general  promise 
to  be  good.  Yet  this  sort  of  thing  is  civilization  commit- 
ting suicide.  Is  n't  it  appalling  to  think  of  France,  ''the 
land  of  the  idea,"  being  thus  compelled  to  abandon  her 
science  and  art  and  to  waste  her  blood  and  treasure  in 
this  unspeakable  massacre?  We  ought  all  of  us,  young 
Boches,  too,  to  be  fighting  side  by  side  in  the  endless  war 
men  must  wage  on  the  various  cussednesses  of  nature. 
This  cheerless  life  is  acid  to  any  one  with  memories  of  an 
old,  beloved  New  England  hearth  and  close  family  ties 
and  friendships.  To  half  jest,  I  am  enduring  war  for 
peace  of  mind. 

How  lonely  my  old  house  must  be  when  the  winter 
storms  surge  round  it  at  midnight.  How  the  great  flakes 
must  swirl  about  its  ancient  chimney,  and  fall  softly 
down  the  black  throat  of  the  fireplace  to  the  dark,  un- 
garnished  hearth.  The  goblin  who  polished  the  pewter 
plates  in  the  light  of  the  crumbling  fire-brands  has  gone 
to  live  with  his  brother  in  a  hollow  tree  on  the  hill.  But 
when  you  come  to  Topsfield,  the  goblin  himself,  red  flan- 
nel cap  and  all,  will  open  the  door  to  you  as  the  house's 
most  honored  and  welcome  guest. 

A  fusee  edairante  has  just  run  over  the  wood,  the  ''  Bois 
de  la  mort''  the  wood  of  the  hundred  thousand  dead; 
and  side  by  side  with  the  dead  are  the  living,  the  soldiers 
of  the  army  of  France,  holding  through  bitter  cold  and  a 
ceaseless  shower  of  iron  and  hell,  the  far-stretching  lines. 
If  there  is  anything  I  am  proud  of,  it  is  of  having  been 
with  the  French  Army,  the  most  devoted  and  heroic  of 
the  war. 

Henry  Sheahan  ^ 


1  Of  Topsfield,  Massachusetts;  Harvard,  '09;  served  from  August,  1915, 
to  April,  1916;  author  of  A  Volunteer  Poilu.  (See  Bibliography  in  the 
Appendix  to  Vol.  in.) 


V 

En  Route  — 1916 

Section  Two  left  Pont-a-Mousson  about  February  21, 
1 91 6,  and  on  Washington's  Birthday  our  French  Lieuten- 
ant gave  us  our  "order  to  move" ;  but  all  he  could  tell  us 
about  our  destination  was  that  we  were  going  north.  We 
started  from  Bar-le-Duc,  where  we  had  spent  a  few  days 
overhauling  and  painting  the  cars,  about  noon,  and  it 
took  six  hours  to  make  forty  miles  through  roads  covered 
with  snow,  swarming  with  troops,  and  all  but  blocked  by 
convoys  of  food  carts  and  sections  of  trucks.  Of  course  we 
knew  that  there  was  an  attack  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Verdun,  but  we  did  not  know  who  was  making  it  or  how 
it  was  going.  Then  about  four  o'clock  in  the  short  winter 
twilight  we  passed  two  or  three  regiments  of  French 
colonial  troops  on  the  march  with  all  their  field  equip- 
ment. They  were  lined  up  on  each  side  of  the  road  around 
their  soup  kitchens,  which  were  smoking  busily,  and  I 
had  a  good  look  at  them  as  we  drove  along.  It  was  the 
first  time  that  I  had  seen  an  African  Army  in  the  field, 
and  though  they  had  a  long  march,  they  were  cheerful 
and  in  high  spirits  at  the  prospect  of  battle.  They  were 
all  young,  active  men,  of  all  colors  and  complexions,  from 
blue-eyed  blonds  to  shiny  blacks,  and  wore  khaki,  and 
brown  shrapnel  casques. 

After  that  we  rode  north  along  the  Meuse,  through  a 
beautiful  country  where  the  snow-covered  hills,  with 
their  sky-lines  of  carefully  pruned  French  trees,  made 
me  think  of  masterpieces  of  Japanese  art.  In  the  many 
little  villages  there  was  much  excitement  and  activity  — 
troops,  artillery,  and  munitions  being  rushed  through  to 
the  front,  and  there  were  also  the  consequent  wild  rumors 
of  great  attacks  and  victories.  Curiously  enough,  there 
were  few  who  thought  of  defeat,  all  sure,  even  when  a 

227 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


retreat  was  reported  that  the  French  were  winning;  and 
that  spirit  of  confidence  had  much  to  do  with  stopping 
the  German  advance. 

At  about  six  in  the  evening  we  reached  our  destination, 
some  forty  miles  northeast  of  Bar-le-Duc.  The  Httle  vil- 
lage, Petit-Monthairon,  where  we  stopped  had  been  a 
railroad  centre  until  the  day  before,  when  the  Germans 
started  bombarding  it.  Now  the  town  was  evacuated, 
and  the  smoking  station  deserted.  The  place  had  ceased 
to  exist,  except  for  a  hospital  which  was  established  on 
the  southern  edge  of  the  town  in  a  lovely  old  chateau, 
overlooking  the  Meuse,  whither  we  were  called  as  soon 
as  we  arrived  to  take  such  wounded  as  could  be  moved 
to  the  nearest  available  railhead,  ten  miles  away,  on  the 
main  road,  and  four  miles  south  of  Verdun.  We  started 
out  in  convoy;  but  with  the  conditions  of  traffic,  it  was 
impossible  to  stick  together,  and  it  took  some  of  us  till 
five  o'clock  the  next  morning  to  make  the  trip.  That 
was  the  beginning  of  the  attack  for  us,  and  the  work 
of  evacuating  the  wounded  to  the  railway  stations  went 
steadily  on  until  March  15,  during  which  period  it  was 
left  to  the  driver  to  decide  how  many  trips  it  was  physi- 
cally possible  for  him  to  make  in  each  twenty-four  hours, 
for  there  were  more  wounded  than  could  be  carried,  and 
no  one  could  be  certain  of  keeping  any  kind  of  schedule 
with  the  roads  as  they  were  then. 

The  Roads  about  Verdun 

Sometimes  we  spent  five  or  six  hours  waiting  at  a  cross- 
road, while  columns  of  troops  and  their  equipment  filed 
steadily  by.  Sometimes  at  night  we  could  make  a  trip  in 
two  hours  that  had  taken  us  ten  in  daylight.  Sometimes, 
too,  we  crawled  slowly  to  a  station  only  to  find  it  deserted, 
shells  falling,  and  the  hospital  removed  to  some  still  more 
distant  point  of  the  line.  Situations  and  conditions 
changed  from  day  to  day,  —  almost  from  hour  to  hour. 
One  day  it  was  sunshine  and  spring,  with  roads  six  inches 
deep  in  mud,  no  traffic  and  nothing  to  remind  one  of  war, 

228 


SECTION  TWO 


except  the  wounded  in  the  car  and  the  distant  roar  of  the 
guns,  which  sounded  like  a  giant  beating  a  carpet.  The 
next  day,  it  was  winter  again,  with  mud  changed  to  ice, 
the  roads  blocked  with  troops,  and  the  Germans  turning 
hell  loose  with  their  heavy  guns. 

In  such  a  crisis  as  those  first  days  around  Verdun, 
ammunition  and  fresh  men  are  the  all-essential  things. 
The  wounded  are  the  dechets,  the  "has-beens,"  and  so 
must  take  the  second  place.  But  the  French  are  too 
gallant  and  tender-hearted  not  to  make  sacrifices.  For 
instance,  I  remember  one  morning  I  was  slapped  off  the 
road  into  the  ditch,  with  a  broken  axle,  while  passing 
a  solitary  camion,  whereupon  the  driver  got  down,  came 
over  and  apologized  for  the  accident  which  was  easily 
half  my  fault.  Then  we  unloaded  four  cases  of  "seventy- 
five"  shells  that  he  was  carrying,  put  my  three  wounded 
on  the  floor  of  his  car,  and  he  set  out  slowly  and  carefully 
up  the  ice-covered  road,  saying  to  me  with  a  smile  as  he 
left,  "Don't  let  the  Boches  get  my  marmites  while  I'm 
gone."  For  some  time  I  sat  there  alone  on  the  road, 
watching  the  shells  break  on  a  hill  some  miles  away  to 
the  north,  and  wondering  when  I  could  get  word  of  my 
mishap  back  to  the  base.  Then  a  staff  car  appeared  down 
the  highway,  making  its  way  along  slowly  and  with  diffi- 
culty, because,  being  without  chains,  it  skidded  humor- 
ously, with  engine  racing  and  the  chauffeur  trying  vainly 
to  steer.  There  was  a  Captain  of  the  Service  des  Autos 
sitting  on  the  front  seat,  who  was  so  immaculately  clean 
and  well-groomed  that  he  seemed  far  away  from  work 
of  any  kind.  But  when  the  car  stopped  completely  about 
halfway  up  the  little  hill  on  which  I  was  broken  down,  he 
jumped  out,  took  off  his  fur  coat,  and  using  it  to  give  the 
rear  wheels  a  grip  on  the  ice,  he  swung  it  under  the  car. 
As  the  wheels  passed  over  it,  he  picked  it  up  and  swung 
it  under  again.  So  the  car  climbed  the  hill  and  slid  down 
the  other  slope  round  the  curve  and  out  of  sight.  It  was 
just  another  incident  that  made  me  realize  the  spirit  and 
energy  of  the  French  Automobile  Service. 

229 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


But  the  Captain  had  not  solved  any  of  my  difficulties. 
He  had  been  too  busy  with  his  own  to  notice  me  or  won- 
der why  an  American  ambulance  was  sprawled  in  a  ditch 
with  four  cases  of  shells  alongside.  So  I  waited  there 
about  two  hours  until  an  American  came  by  and  took 
back  word  of  my  accident  and  of  the  parts  necessary  to 
set  it  right.  In  the  meantime,  about  noon,  my  friend 
came  back  in  his  camion  to  take  up  his  cases  of  shells  and 
reported  my  wounded  safe  at  the  railway  station.  We 
lunched  together  on  the  front  seat  of  the  camion,  bread, 
tinned  "monkey  meat,"  and  red  wine,  w^hile  he  told  me 
stories  about  his  life  as  a  driver. 

As  soon  as  we  had  finished  lunch  he  left  me,  and  I 
waited  for  another  two  hours  until  the  American  staff 
car  (in  other  surroundings  I  should  call  it  an  ordinary 
Ford  touring-car  with  a  red  cross  or  so  added)  came  along 
loaded  with  an  extra  "rear  construction,"  and  driven  by 
the  Chief  himself.  It  took  us  another  four  hours  to  remove 
my  battered  rear  axle  and  put  in  the  new  parts ;  but  my 
car  was  back  in  service  by  midnight. 

This  was  a  typical  instance  of  the  kind  of  accident  that 
was  happening,  and  there  were  about  three  "Ford  casual- 
ities"  every  day.  But  thanks  to  the  simplicity  of  the 
mechanism,  and  to  the  fact  that,  with  the  necessary 
spare  parts,  the  most  serious  indisposition  can  be  reme- 
died in  a  few  hours,  our  Section  was  at  the  front  for  a 
year  —  ten  months  in  the  Bois  le  Pretre,  and  two  months 
at  Verdun  —  without  being  sent  back  out  of  service  for 
general  repairs.  In  the  Bois  le  Pretre  we  had  carried  the 
wounded  from  the  dressing-stations  to  the  first  hospital, 
while  at  Verdun  we  were  on  service  from  the  hospital  to 
the  railheads.  In  this  latter  work  of  evacuation  the  trips 
were  much  longer,  thirty  to  ninety  miles ;  so  the  strain  on 
the  cars  w^as  correspondingly  greater.  As  our  cars,  being 
small  and  fast,  carried  only  three  wounded  on  stretchers 
or  five  seated,  our  relative  efficiency  was  low  in  compari- 
son with  the  wear  and  tear  of  the  "running  gear"  and 
the  amount  of  oil  and  petrol  used.  But  in  the  period  from 

230 


SECTION  TWO 


February  22  to  March  13,  twenty  days,  with  an  aver- 
age of  eighteen  cars  working,  we  carried  2046  wounded 
18,915  miles.  This  would  be  no  record  on  good  open 
roads,  but  with  the  conditions  I  have  described  I  think  it 
justified  the  existence  of  our  volunteer  organization,  — 
if  it  needed  justification.  Certainly  the  French  thought 
so ;  but  they  are  too  generous  to  be  good  judges. 

Except  for  our  experiences  on  the  road,  there  was  little 
romance  in  the  daily  routine.  True,  we  were  under  shell- 
fire,  and  had  to  sleep  in  our  cars  or  in  a  much-inhabited 
hayloft,  and  eat  in  a  little  inn,  half  farmhouse  and  half 
stable,  where  the  food  was  none  too  good  and  the  cooking 
none  too  clean.  But  we  all  realized  that  the  men  in  the 
trenches  would  have  made  of  such  conditions  a  luxurious 
paradise ;  so  that  kept  us  from  thinking  of  it  as  anything 
more  than  a  rather  strenouus  "camping  out." 

Frank  Hoyt  Gailor  ^ 

*  Of  Memphis,  Tennessee;  Sewanee  and  Columbia  Universities;  spent 
parts  of  1915  and  1916  in  the  Service.  Later  served  as  First  Lieutenant  in 
the  American  Field  Artillery. 


VI 

In  the  Midst  of  the  Battle  of  Verdun 

Verdun,  May,  1916 
For  two  weeks  the  Section  worked  night  and  day  with 
scarcely  time  for  sleeping  and  eating,  but  when  our  labor 
slowed  up,  the  men  had  time  to  catch  up  lost  sleep.  Sleep- 
ing quarters  were  in  the  loft  of  a  barn  between  the  lane, 
which  was  the  entrance  to  the  estate,  and  the  chateau. 
Due  partly  to  the  rainy  and  damp  weather,  and  the  hard 
work,  many  of  the  fellows  were  on  the  verge  of  illness, 
and  at  night  the  loft  sounded  very  much  like  a  consump- 
tive retreat.  Every  available  space  was  occupied  by  the 
sleepers,  and  a  few  of  the  Section  found  accommodations 
in  a  couple  of  small  buildings  in  the  rear  of  the  chateau, 
on  the  edge  of  the  park,  a  small  shack  used  for  storing 
fishing  paraphernalia,  and  another  near  by  which  gave 
shelter  from  nothing  but  the  rain  and  snow.  One  of  the 
strangest  things  in  that  part  of  the  estate  was  an  "Old 
Town"  canoe  with  a  paddle  made  from  a  broken  air- 
plane propeller  which  belonged  to  an  aviator  from  the 
flying  field  on  the  top  of  the  hill.  From  time  to  time  sev- 
eral of  our  fellows  went  canoeing  in  it  on  the  Meuse 
which  flowed  close  by. 

The  meals  were  served  in  a  farmhouse  on  the  main 
road,  at  the  head  of  the  lane,  these  eating  quarters  being 
the  worst  part  of  our  life  there.  The  owners  still  hung  on, 
though  they  had  been  ordered  to  leave  long  before,  and 
their  presence  did  not  add  to  the  pleasures  of  the  spot. 
The  dining-room  was  the  kitchen  and  living-room,  and 
at  eating  times  was  jammed  full  of  hungry  Americans, 
Frenchmen  who  were  trying  to  buy  wine  of  the  Madame, 
and  the  Madame's  family  of  eight  very  dirty  children. 
A  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room  was  reserved  for  the 
Section,  though  there  was  scarcely  place  for  half  the  men. 

2?,2 


SECTION  TWO 


Plates  and  table  hardware  were  seldom  washed,  and  it 
often  happened  that  nothing  was  cleaned  for  several 
meals,  while  to  add  to  the  unpleasantness  of  the  situa- 
tion, hostlers  kept  opening  and  closing  a  door  which  was 
the  entrance  to  the  foulest  stable  imaginable.  Possibly 
there  would  have  been  a  general  "kick"  on  the  part  of 
the  Section  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  fact  that  we  were 
worn  out  from  the  hard  work  and  long  hours  of  driving, 
which  sometimes  amounted  to  over  200  kilometres  per 
day  per  car. 

The  cars  too  were  in  a  sad  state  and  most  of  them  fit 
for  the  "graveyard"  in  Paris.  On  March  4,  one  new  car 
and  two  overhauled  ones  came  out  from  Paris,  and  t^A'o 
days  later,  two  more  arrived.  That  night  orders  were 
received  at  eight  o'clock  to  move  to  Vadelaincourt  at 
once. 

Heavy  fighting  was  going  on  then  between  Hill  304  and 
the  Meuse  and  there  was  such  a  stream  of  wounded  pour- 
ing into  Vadelaincourt  that  the  hospital  was  swamped. 
There  was  no  room  at  the  chateau  for  the  freshly  operated- 
upon  men,  so  they  were  taken  at  once  to  other  hospitals 
in  the  direction  of  Bar-le-Duc  and  Revigny.  One  French 
sanitary  Section  and  two  British  Sections  had  been  doing 
the  work,  but  there  were  too  many  wounded  for  these 
outfits  and  Section  Two  was  called  upon  to  help. 

The  majority  of  our  cars  arrived  at  the  chateau  by 
10  o'clock,  and  after  throwing  dufile-bags  and  blanket 
rolls  into  a  barn,  the  men  set  to  work  evacuating  and 
worked  steadily  at  their  task  for  nearly  three  days  with 
no  sleep.  The  first  night  every  car  evacuated  to  Revigny 
over  the  main  Bar-le-Duc- Verdun  road,  which  was  a 
continual  stretch  of  holes  and  ruts,  so  that  no  car  could 
go  more  than  fifteen  miles  an  hour,  due  to  the  roughness 
of  the  road  and  the  dense  traffic.  After  the  first  four  days 
the  French  Section  and  one  of  the  British  Sections  left, 
the  whole  work  now  falling  to  our  Section  Two  and  to 
English  Section  Two.  There  was  still  plenty  of  it,  but  it 
could  be  run  more  systematically. 

233 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


At  Camp 

The  Section  slept  in  its  cars,  which  were  parked  on  the 
side  of  the  road  near  the  hospital,  and  our  kitchen  was 
established  in  one  of  the  rooms  of  a  farmhouse,  very  close 
to  a  barn  and  a  huge  heap  of  manure.  The  dining-room, 
which  was  a  sort  of  '* lean-to"  against  the  side  of  the 
house,  was  made  of  blankets  and  canvas  and  not  very 
watertight.  For  three  weeks  we  lived  this  way,  and  then, 
during  a  spell  of  good  weather,  erected  a  tent  (borrowed 
from  the  head  French  military  doctor,  who  was  a  very 
good  sort)  in  a  lot  across  the  road  from  the  aviation  field. 
However,  most  of  the  Section  by  that  time  had  found 
sleeping-quarters  in  two  rat-infested  barns,  everybody 
however,  taking  the  unpleasant  life  philosophically.  One 
of  the  barns  was  also  occupied  by  the  English  Section,  and 
when  one  night  it  caught  fire  near  the  essence  tanks,  and 
burned  to  the  ground,  several  of  the  men  had  very  narrow 
escapes  and  five  of  the  Americans  lost  all  their  blankets. 

Night  work  at  a  triage  on  the  main  Verdun  road  was 
now  being  taken  up  every  other  night,  in  addition  to  the 
labor  of  evacuating  from  Vadelaincourt,  which  meant 
long  runs  to  Froidos,  Chaumont,  and  sometimes  Revigny, 
all,  however,  interesting  in  their  way. 

On  April  8th,  Frank  Gailor  ("Bishop")  left  us  to  the 
regret  of  everybody.  "Bish"  was  one  of  the  most  popular 
men  of  the  Section  and  told  most  interesting  stories  of 
his  work  in  Belgium  at  the  beginning  of  the  war,  when 
he  was  a  member  of  the  Relief  Committee.  What  his 
"farewell  party"  lacked  in  elaborateness  was  made  up 
for  in  the  sincere  feelings  of  regret  which  each  man  felt. 

After  eating  in  our  "lean-to"  by  the  manure  heap  for 
three  weeks,  the  same  French  doctor,  already  mentioned, 
offered  us,  as  our  dining-room,  the  use  of  a  spare  tent 
which  was  erected  in  the  field  opposite  the  aviation  field. 
The  kitchen,  too,  was  moved  into  a  small  tent  which  was 
rigged  up  between  two  pine  trees  a  few  feet  from  the 
dining-tent.  A  table  in  the  form  of  a  "T"  was  built,  and 

234 


SECTION  TWO 


with  the  addition  of  a  set  of  shelves,  known  as  the 
'^American  Bar,"  built  in  one  corner,  everybody  was 
satisfied  with  our  prandial  arrangements.  '' Bishop" 
Gailor's  farewell  party,  by  the  way,  occurred  in  these 
new  quarters,  and  also  took  the  form  of  a  **  house- 
warming,"  with  speeches  by  Emery  Pottle,  Graham, 
Harold  Willis  and  one  or  two  others.  A  quintet  formed 
with  Pottle,  Nolan,  Graham,  Willis,  and  Seccombe  made 
its  initial  appearance  on  this  occasion,  and  the  party 
broke  up  at  a  late  hour  with  everybody  more  or  less  con- 
vinced that  he  was  the  next  thing  to  a  Caruso. 

For  a  few  days  thereafter  the  weather  had  been  ideal, 
but  a  change  for  the  worse  took  place  and  the  old  tents 
had  a  hard  time.  There  was  no  work  to  speak  of  and  every- 
body spent  the  day  ''under  canvas"  around  a  small  stove 
indulging  in  arguments  on  any  sort  of  subject,  while 
music  by  Nolan  and  Graham,  on  mandolin  and  guitar, 
caused  the  time  to  pass  away  agreeably.  For  three  weeks 
we  had  nothing  but  rain,  hail,  and  snow,  and  as  the  tent 
was  pretty  old,  it  leaked  in  many  places.  The  field  and 
side  hill  was  a  mass  of  slimy  mud  six  inches  deep,  and  ten 
or  twelve  men  were  required  to  push  every  car  into  the 
road. 

The  weather  became  better  about  the  first  of  May, 
and  as  the  aviators  became  more  active,  we  got  better 
acquainted  with  Navarre,  Boillot,  and  Guynemer.  This 
aviation  field,  by  the  way,  was  one  of  the  largest  on  the 
whole  front  and  had  every  type  of  plane  then  used  by 
the  French.  Navarre  was  then  flying  a  bright  red  Nieu- 
port  and  never  failed  to  give  a  thrilling  exhibition  when- 
ever he  took  the  air. 

On  Sunday,  May  21,  everybody  attended  an  open-air 
funeral  service  for  the  burial  of  three  aviators,  one  of 
whom  was  Boillot.  An  altar  w^as  erected  between  two 
trees  and  the  service,  which  was  very  impressive,  was 
largely  attended  by  artillery  and  aviation  officers,  some 
three  hundred  of  whom  followed  the  bodies  to  the  ceme- 
tery. 

235 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


The  last  of  the  month  the  fighting  grew  worse  about 
Fort  de  Vaux  and  Fort  Douaumont  and  the  Section 
worked  every  night  and  most  of  the  days  at  the  triage. 

To  Bar-le-Duc  for  Repos  —  Air  Raids 

The  31st  found  the  Section  moving  to  Bar-le-Duc,  where 
it  was  to  be  outfitted  with  new  cars  and  where  it  was  also 
supposed  to  be  en  repos.  But  as  we  took  the  place  of  and 
did  the  work  which  an  English  section  had  been  doing, 
this  was  far  from  being  a  rest,  for  during  the  twenty- 
seven  days  there,  an  actual  record  of  10,500  men  carried 
was  one  of  the  things  the  men  pointed  to  with  pride.  It 
meant  that  a  man  was  on  duty  fifty-three  hours  at  a 
stretch,  sleeping  at  one  of  three  places  —  wherever  he 
was  working  —  and  then  going  off  duty  from  i  p.m.  until 
8.30  the  next  a.m. 

June  10 
The  second  day  in  town,  the  Boche  planes  raided  Bar- 
le  -Due  at  i  p.m.  and  the  Section  saw  some  exciting 
work.  There  were  many  narrow  escapes  in  driving  round 
picking  up  the  dead  and  wounded,  Barclay  ^  having  the 
closest  call  w^hen  a  bomb  exploded  back  of  his  car  and 
a  huge  piece  went  through  the  body  close  to  his  head. 
Twenty-four  planes  were  counted  in  all,  and  36  dead  and 
132  wounded  were  the  results.  On  June  16  and  17,  there 
were  two  more  raids,  but  they  were  not  so  severe  as  the 
first  one. 

Our  living  quarters  at  Bar-le-Duc  were  in  an  old  build- 
ing built  in  1575  and  once  a  monastery,  but  now  used  to 
quarter  troops  in.  The  whole  edifice  was  in  the  form  of  a 
square  with  a  large  courtyard  inside,  where  were  always 
every  night  a  hundred  or  more  poilus  on  their  way  to  and 
from  the  front.  Towards  the  end  of  June  was  a  change 
of  French  officers.  Lieutenant  Maas  being  replaced  by 
Lieutenant  Rodocanachi,  who  became  the  most  popular 
commander  the  Section  ever  had. 

^  Leif  Norman  Barclay  of  New  York  City;  killed  in  French  Aviation,  19 17. 

236 


SECTION  TWO 


At  this  period,  many  men  used  to  have  lunch  with  the 
Lafayette  Escadrille,  which  was  stationed  just  outside  of 
town,  where  Victor  Chapman  was  killed  on  the  23d,  and 
Balsley  badly  hurt  a  few  days  before.  Walter  Lovell  left 
on  June  19  to  enter  the  training  school  of  aviation.  He 
had  made  a  fine  Chef  de  Section  and  everybody  hated  to 
see  him  go.  Oliver  Wolcott  was  made  Chef,  but  was  re- 
called to  the  States  when  the  Mexican  trouble  started, 
and  so  filled  the  post  only  a  week. 

Back  to  Petit-Monthairon 

June  27  the  Section  moved  back  to  Petit-Monthairon, 
where  it  did  evacuation  work  until  September  2,  and 
where  we  had  a  small  house  with  sleeping-quarters, 
dining-room  and  kitchen,  officers'  rooms  and  bureau 
which  were  fairly  comfortable.  There  was  not  much  work 
to  do  at  this  moment  so  several  ball  games  were  played 
with  Section  Eight  and  a  Norton  Section,  all  of  which  we 
lost,  with  one  exception,  but  which  furnished  good  fun  and 
exercise.  Several  more  new  cars  and  men  joined  the  Sec- 
tion there,  J.  M.  Walker,  our  new  Chef,  being  among  them. 

Sections  One  and  Eight  were  in  Dugny  part  of  this 
time  and  a  certain  amount  of  visiting  was  done  by  all  the 
Sections,  Section  Four,  stationed  at  Ippecourt,  sending  a 
few  men  over  to  us  from  time  to  time.  There  were  big 
parties  on  the  night  of  July  4th  and  again  on  July  14. 
Then,  too,  Powel  received  a  cardboard  Victrola  with 
records  and  gave  evening  concerts  in  the  ''loft,"  while 
we  had  good  swimming  in  the  Meuse  along  with  plenty 
of  mosquitoes.  On  July  29  we  received  a  Hotchkiss  work- 
shop car  and  a  new  staff  car. 

On  August  6,  Mrs.  Vanderbilt,  who  presented  each  of 
us  with  a  box  of  cigarettes,  visited  the  Section  for  lunch 
along  with  Mr.  Andrew:  everybody  was  ''all  dolled  up" 
after  spending  the  whole  morning  in  brushing,  polishing, 
and  prinking  in  general.  On  September  2,  the  Section 
moved  to  Rampont  and  took  over  the  posies  at  Esnes,  and 
Hills  232  and  272,  which  Section  Four  had  been  working, 

237 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Section  Four  taking  over  the  posies  between  272  and  the 
Meuse.  Five  cars  were  on  duty  every  night,  receiving 
orders  at  the  telephone  station  at  Jouy,  three  of  the  cars 
going  to  Hill  2^2  and  the  others  to  Esnes  or  Hill  232.  For 
about  ten  days  the  poste  in  Esnes  was  the  same  old  ruined 
chateau  which  Section  Four  had  used,  when  a  new  poste 
was  established  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town  on  the  road 
to  Bethincourt,  where  the  cars  had  to  run  quite  a  bit 
farther  through  the  centre  of  the  town  over  a  road  full  of 
shell-holes  and  wreckage  off  the  buildings. 

In  September  the  French,  in  an  effort  to  straighten 
their  line  made  an  attack  on  the  Mort  Homme.  The 
artillery  barrage  started  at  5  p.m.,  and  an  hour  later  the 
infantry  ''went  over."  The  whole  Section  had  been 
ordered  to  Jouy  at  6  p.m.  and  at  7  p.m.  the  first  call  came 
for  cars  at  Hill  2'J2.  Shortly  after,  the  rest  of  the  cars  were 
called  and  we  all  worked  until  daybreak  carrying  in  over 
250  wounded. 

Edward  Nicholas  Seccombe^ 

1  Of  Derby,  Connecticut;  served  six  months  in  S.S.U.  Two  in  1916;  re- 
joined the  Service  in  November,  191 7,  and  remained  in  the  U.S.A.  Am- 
bulance Service  during  the  war. 


VERDUN  i 


THE   COURTYARD   OF   THE   ESXES   CHATEAU 


VII 
At  a  Hospital 

Petit-Monthairon,  August  9,  1916 
We  are  quartered  m  one  of  the  farmhouses  belonging  to 
a  chateau,  which  is  now  a  hospital.  You  remember,  no 
doubt,  the  French  farmhouses  —  a  blank  wall  on  the 
roadside  with  only  an  entrance  to  the  courtyard;  a  dark 
kitchen,  a  few  bedrooms  and  a  loft,  with  a  few  sheds  out 
back.  The  loft  is  divided  into  two  parts.  We  sleep  in 
one  of  them  on  stretchers  propped  up  from  the  floor  by 
boxes  or  our  little  army  trunks.  Some  of  the  boys  don't 
prop  up  their  stretchers,  but  I  find  it  better  to  elevate 
mine,  as  the  rats  run  all  over  the  floor  and  incidentally 
over  you  if  your  stretcher  rests  on  the  floor.  The  fleas 
seem  more  numerous  near  the  floor,  and  there  are  spiders, 
too.  I've  been  pretty  well  ''bit  up."  But  yesterday  I 
soaked  my  blankets  in  petrol  and  hung  them  on  the  line 
in  the  courtyard  for  an  airing,  so  I  think  I've  left  the 
vermin  behind.  I  also  sprayed  my  clothes,  especially  my 
underwear,  with  petrol,  which  does  n't  make  much  for 
comfort,  except  in  so  far  as  the  animals  are  bafiled.  Flies 
and  mosquitoes  are  abundant,  too.  We  all  have  mosquito 
nets  which  we  put  over  our  heads  in  the  evening,  mak- 
ing us  all  look  like  the  proverbial  huckleberry  pie  on  the 
railroad  restaurant  counter.  The  poilus  around  us  have 
adopted  our  methods,  and  you  see  them  sitting  about 
looking  in  the  distance  for  all  the  world  like  Arabs.  We 
are  better  off  than  the  other  Sections,  though,  for  our 
house  is  very  commodious,  and  near  by  we  have  a  river 
to  swim  in  every  day.  So  it  is  no  effort  to  bathe. 

We  carry  the  wounded  from  the  chateau  to  the  trains. 
Some  trips  are  about  seventeen  kilometres  one  way,  and 
others  are  more.  As  the  roads  are  well  used,  they  are 
rather  bumpy;  so  you  have  to  go  very  slowly.  You  can't 

239 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


dash  at  full  speed  with  wounded.  It  is  slow  work,  for,  in 
addition  to  the  necessity  of  making  the  trip  as  easy  as 
possible  for  the  blesses,  you  have  to  dodge  in  and  out 
among  the  transports,  which  usually  fill  up  the  roads. 
There  is  a  steady  stream  going  and  coming  —  horses, 
mules,  and  auto-trucks. 

I  never  saw  so  many  —  thousands  of  each  kind.  Then 
there  is  no  lagging  or  loafing ;  you  blow  your  whistle  and 
the  driver  of  what  is  ahead  of  you  gives  you  six  inches  of 
road,  you  squeeze  through  and  take  a  chance  that  the 
nigh  mule  on  the  team  coming  the  other  way  does  n't 
kick.  You  well  know  how  dusty  the  roads  are.  But  we 
have  to  drive  right  ahead  regardless  of  it;  so  you  can 
imagine  what  sights  we  are  when  we  get  back  to  our 
farmhouse  —  scarecrows,  each  one.  The  dust  is  powdery 
and  comes  off  easily,  however,  so  one  can  get  comfortable 
in  a  short  time. 

The  blesses  are  a  quiet  lot,  especially  after  you  give 
them  cigarettes.  I  always  pass  around  the  cigarettes 
before  starting,  for  then  I  'm  sure  those  en  arriere  will  be 
still.  Every  now  and  then  you  have  a  ''humming-bird," 
that  is,  a  blesse  who  is  so  hurt  that  the  least  jar  pains  him 
and  he  moans  or  yells.  You  can't  help  him  any,  so  you 
just  have  to  put  up  with  it.  However,  I  don't  like  ''hum- 
ming-birds," for  you  feel,  when  you  are  carrying  them, 
that  you  hit  more  bumps  than  you  really  do. 

The  Poilu's  Amateur  Theatricals 

I  went  the  other  day  to  a  show  in  Trayon  where  some  of 
the  troops  are  en  repos.  It  was  wonderful,  for  there,  right 
within  range  of  the  Boche  guns,  the  French  soldiers  were 
giving  one  of  the  best  musical  performances  I  have  ever 
seen.  Among  the  performers  —  men  who  only  a  little 
while  before  had  been  in  the  trenches  —  were  professional 
musicians,  singers,  and  actors.  It  was  not  amateurish  at 
all;  in  fact,  it  was  highly  professional.  The  theatre  was 
fitted  up  more  or  less  like  the  stage  at  the  Hasty  Pudding 
Club  of  Harvard.  There  was  an  amateurish  back-drop, 

240 


SECTION  TWO 


however ;  but  everything  else  savored  of  the  real  Parisian 
touch.  Among  the  audience  were  generals,  colonels,  under- 
officers,  poilus,  and  five  of  us.  We  were  invited,  inasmuch 
as  we  had  lent  some  of  our  uniforms  for  the  actors.  I  saw 
my  cap  walk  out  on  the  stage  on  a  fellow  with  a  little 
head,  so  it  did  n't  even  rest  on  his  ears,  but  rather  on  his 
nose.  The  soldiers  who  could  not  get  in  thronged  the 
courtyard  and  cheered  after  every  song  or  orchestra  piece. 
The  orchestra  was  made  up  of  everything  in  a  city  orches- 
tra, including  a  leader  with  a  baton.  You  see  each  regi- 
ment is  bound  to  have  professional  men  in  it  and  they 
get  up  these  shows.  On  the  whole,  it  was  one  of  the  most 
impressive  sights  I've  seen,  and  on  top  of  it  all,  there 
was  a  continuous  firing  in  the  near  distance.  Imagine  it, 
if  you  can ! 

We  have  a  cook  and  a  servant,  —  one  of  the  poilus  who 
is  quartered  here,  too,  and  who  earns  a  few  sous  on  the 
side  by  serving  us,  —  also  a  French  lieutenant  who  is 
really  the  head  of  the  Section,  a  marechal  des  logis,  and  a 
few  other  French  retainers.  They  sleep  in  the  same  loft 
with  us,  and  every  night  they  chatter  very  late,  kid  each 
other  about  the  fish  they  caught  or  did  not  catch  in  the 
river  during  the  day,  laugh  and  giggle  at  each  other  just 
like  children.  They  are  awfully  amusing.  By  the  way,  all 
the  poilus  who  are  en  repos  fish,  although  there  are  only 
minnows  in  the  streams  about  here.  To-day  I  asked  sev- 
eral how  many  they  caught,  and  they  said  they  were  only 
fishing  to  pass  the  time.  It  seems  to  be  a  great  diversion, 
for  they  all  do  it.  Besides  fishing  the  poilus  en  repos  trap 
foxes,  hedgehogs,  rabbits,  and  other  animals  and  then 
train  them.  Over  across  the  road  in  one  of  the  courtyards 
are  two  of  the  cutest  little  foxes  I  have  ever  seen,  which 
play  around  and  are  just  like  little  collies  until  we  show 
up,  when  they  scamper  off  and  get  behind  a  box  or  a 
stove  and  blink  at  us.  We  tried  to  buy  one  of  them,  but 
the  owners  are  too  fond  of  them  to  let  them  go. 

They  all  bathe,  too,  every  day  —  the  poilus.  We  go  in 
with  them,  the  mules,  and  the  horses.  Probably  some- 

241 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


where  else  in  the  same  river  the  Boches  are  bathing.  Such 
is  Hfe.  We  are  extremely  lucky  to  get  a  chance  to  wash  at 
all  and  I  'm  afraid  when  we  move  from  here  —  for  we 
shall  soon  be  moved  to  poste  duty  —  we  shan't  have  the 
comforts  we  are  now  enjoying. 

I  '11  write  again  soon,  but  now  I  *m  going  to  bed,  — 
that  is,  roll  up  in  my  blankets  on  my  stretcher,  for  there 
is  an  early  call  for  to-morrow  morning,  which  means  get- 
ting your  machines  over  to  the  chateau  at  six  o'clock,  all 
ready  for  the  day's  work.  It's  great  fun  and  I  am  awfully 
glad  to  be  here.  Moreover,  there  is  a  satisfaction  in  know- 
ing that  you  are  helping  and  that  the  French  are  very 
appreciative,  from  the  poilu  up  to  the  highest  officers. 

Charles  Baird,  Jr.^ 


^  Of  New  York;  Harvard,  'ii;  served  in  both  Sections  Two  and  Three; 
the  above  extracts  are  from  letters. 


'^  itv»':4. 


VIII 
In  and  Around  Verdun 

Petit'Monthairon,  July  23,  191 6 
Here  we  are  In  this  quiet  little  French  village.  We  move 
something  over  a  hundred  sick  and  wounded  men  a  day 
from  one  hospital  to  another,  or  to  the  hospital  trains 
that  take  them  out  of  the  military  zone.  I  don't  find  the 
occupation  trying.  The  men  we  carry  have  had  hospital 
treatment  and  most  of  them  are  not  in  extreme  pain;  a 
fact  that  makes  it  easier  for  the  drivers  when  the  road 
is  rough,  as  it  generally  is.  The  road  service,  however,  is 
really  excellent.  Gangs  of  men  are  breaking  stones  all  the 
time  and  steam-rollers  crushing  the  stones  into  smooth 
hard  highways.  But  the  traffic  is  so  enormous  that  it's 
only  a  week  or  two  before  the  road  is  worn  into  little 
ridges,  much  like  the  waves  in  Florentine  paintings. 

The  dust  makes  an  added  complication  in  driving.  A 
convoy  of  camions  raises  a  cloud  of  dust  through  which  you 
can't  see  for  five  minutes  after  they  have  passed.  This 
slows  us  up,  for  it  makes  it  dangerous  to  cut  around  slow- 
moving  vehicles.  Even  on  your  own  side  of  the  road  you 
are  n't  entirely  safe.  To-day  I  was  running  along  when 
out  of  the  dust,  perhaps  twenty  feet  in  front  of  me,  I  saw 
the  radiator  of  a  truck.  Legally,  I  would  have  been  justified 
in  keeping  on ;  but  he  was  shut  in  by  a  forage  convoy ;  so 
I  did  n't  stay  to  argue  the  matter,  but  took  to  the  fields, 
blessing  the  lightness  of  my  car  which  made  it  possible 
for  me  to  negotiate  a  pile  of  road  material  and  a  culti- 
vated field. 

I  am  getting  quite  blase  to  the  sights  of  the  road,  — 
paying  little  attention  to  ammunition  trains  or  soldiers 
on  the  march;  but  I  still  slow  down  when  an  aeroplane 
rises  near  me  or  when  a  fair-sized  bunch  of  German 
prisoners  go  by. 

243 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


September,  1916 
\A'ent  up  to  my  poste  de  secours  with  my  orderly.  It  was 
a  mean  night,  gray  and  dark.  We  started  early  so  as  to 
get  a  little  twilight  and  ran  about  a  mile.  Then  I  heard 
the  whistle  of  a  punctured  tire.  By  the  time  we  had  that 
fixed  it  was  really  dark.  Nevertheless  we  went  the  next 
mile  to  the  central  poste  (Jouy)  without  trouble.  Here  we 
waited. 

It  is  a  dull  place  —  a  little  tiny  village,  headquarters 
for  our  division;  after  eight- thirty,  no  lights  allowed  in 
the  streets  or  showing  from  the  windows.  One  of  our  cars 
is  always  there  on  piquet  duty.  The  two  drivers  of  this  car 
were  playing  checkers  inside  their  ambulance  by  candle 
light.  We  watched  them  for  awhile,  then  we  went  into 
the  poste,  which  is  merely  a  recording  and  telephone 
centre.  The  sergeant  on  duty  sat  at  a  desk  reading  a 
French  novel.  Another  man  was  at  one  end  of  a  bench 
with  "Alice  in  Wonderland."  He  did  n't  do  it  from  choice, 
he  explained,  but  because  he  could  n't  find  any  other  book 
in  camp  which  he  did  n't  know  through  and  through. 
I  sat  on  the  other  end  of  the  bench  and  did  exercises  in 
French  subjunctives. 

A  little  after  midnight  a  'phone  call  for  a  car  at  Esnes 
came  in.  We  were  rather  hoping  it  would  n't,  for  it  had 
begun  to  rain  very  hard  outside,  and  it  was  impossible 
to  see  your  hand  before  your  face.  However,  we  went 
out  and  got  started.  It  wasn't  so  terribly  hard,  though 
our  eyes  ached  from  the  strain  of  constantly  trying  to 
see  what  we  could  n't  possibly  see.  But  we  got  along 
up  the  hill  and  along  the  level,  passing  innumerable  ar- 
tillery teams.  It  was  hard  to  make  out  the  road  here 
and  I  was  glad  when  I  saw  a  gleam  of  light  ahead  and 
heard  the  clink  of  harness.  I  thought  it  was  a  driver 
lighting  his  pipe  and  steered  for  the  light.  In  a  minute  my 
companion  yelled  and  jumped;  and  my  right  wheel 
dropped  down.  I  had  run  over  a  wall  at  the  side  of  the 
road  and  my  front  axle  was  resting  on  the  ground  and 
the  whole  car  was  so  canted  that  there  seemed  every 

244 


SECTION  TWO 


chance  of  its  toppling  over  at  any  moment.  On  investi- 
gation I  found  that  the  Hght  I  had  seen  was  by  the  edge 
of  an  artillery  caisson  which  had  gone  all  the  way  down 
the  bank! 

We  could  n't  do  much  by  ourselves,  but  some  teamsters 
came  along  and  joined  us  heartily  as  French  soldiers 
always  do.  We  were  really  too  few  for  the  job,  but  we 
lifted  with  all  our  might  and  actually  did  get  the  car  back 
in  the  road  again.  So  w^e  once  more  drove  on  in  the  rain, 
creeping  ahead  at  low  speed,  however.  I  remembered  the 
road  pretty  well  from  the  night  before,  and  finally  pulled 
into  our poste  (Esnes).  Luckily  our  wounded  weren't  so 
badly  off  and  were  able  to  sit  up.  We  started  back,  passing 
long  lines  of  soldiers  returning  from  the  trenches,  who 
were  very  spooky  in  the  black.  But  a  minute  or  so  later 
my  right  wheel  dropped  into  a  shell-hole  where  a  big  ohus 
had  just  exploded.  I  was  glad  there  were  plenty  of  soldiers 
at  hand.  All  of  these  who  could  find  fingerhold  lifted  and 
the  car  pulled  out.  It  seemed  incredible  but  nothing  was 
broken. 

We  got  along  slowly  after  that  without  accident. 
About  two  miles  from  the  Poste  Central  it  began  to  rain 
torrents  and  we  could  see  nothing.  It  took  real  resolution 
to  push  on.  I  've  seldom  been  so  relieved  over  anything  as 
when  we  made  out  dimly  the  houses  of  the  village.  From 
there  on  to  the  sorting  hospital  (Claires  Chesnes)  we  could 
use  lights  and  my  one  flickering  gas  burner  seemed  fairly 
to  blaze.  It  had  taken  us  three  hours  to  do  twenty  miles. 

Fromereville,  October 
1  WENT  Up  and  got  three  men  with  no  more  trouble  than 
dropping  both  rear  wheels  in  a  shell-hole  as  I  turned 
around;  but  I  got  some  poilus  to  push  me  out  and  re- 
turned to  headquarters  about  2  a.m.  However,  I  had  n't 
much  more  than  gone  to  sleep  before  there  was  a  'phone 
call  for  Marre,  which  is  a  long  way  over  dark  and  lonely 
roads.  I  wallowed  through  a  number  of  shallow  shell- 
holes,  turning  over  one  spring-hanger  thus  pushing  the 

245 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


body  against  one  wheel  and  creating  a  contact  brake, 
bad  for  the  tire.  Leaving  the  poste  I  dropped  two  wheels 
into  a  shell-hole  and  had  to  get  my  blesses  out  and  have 
them  help  push.  About  halfway  to  the  poste  I  ran  out  of 
gas.  I  put  in  a  gallon  from  my  reserve,  and  when  I  had 
got  it  in,  found  from  the  smell  that  it  was  kerosene.  We 
were  not  far  from  a  French  battery  and  the  road  was 
fairly  pock-marked  with  shell-holes;  so,  although  there 
were  no  shells  coming  in  at  the  time,  I  thought  it  better 
not  to  stay  there,  and  ran  on  on  the  kerosene.  You  can 
do  it  on  low  speed,  apparently.  I  got  down  to  head- 
quarters absolutely  dead  tired.  Now  I  am  home  again 
also  dead  tired. 

Later 
I've  seen  any  number  of  regiments  on  the  march  and 
never  yet  heard  the  men  singing  or  the  bands  playing. 
In  Paris  this  may  seem  a  little  cold  and  uninterested,  but 
here  where  the  real  work  is  done  it  is  wonderfully  impres- 
sive —  suggestive  of  endless  determination  and  reserve 
strength.  Now,  determination  and  reserve  strength  with- 
out hysteria  is  just  what  France  is  showing.  I  am  the 
more  struck  with  this  because  severe  fighting  is  going  on 
close  to  us  and  I  have  been  in  the  midst  of  the  wounded 
coming  into  the  big  evacuation  hospital.  There  were  n't 
enough  ambulances  to  go  around  and  great  crowds,  wuth 
bloody  bandaged  heads  and  arms,  came  in  the  big  motor 
trucks  that  carry  the  soldiers  up  to  the  line.  All  last  night 
I  saw  them  coming  in,  grim  and  suffering  and  uncom- 
plaining. It  was  one  of  the  great  uplifting  experiences  of 
my  life.  I  have  seen  nothing  to  match  it  for  sheer  courage, 
moral  as  well  as  physical.  There  is  n't  the  rawest,  most 
provincial  driver  in  our  work  who  has  n't  expressed  the 
most  unqualified  admiration  for  the  French  poilus.  Cer- 
tainly, as  I  looked  at  them  last  night,  they  seemed 
to  me  sane,  entirely  sane  men,  terribly  brave  and  un- 
beatable. 

The  rumors  are  that  the  victory  was  impressive  and 

246 


SECTION  TWO 


that  Fort  Douaumont  is  ours  again.  It's  a  fine  achieve- 
ment if  true;  but  that  seems  less  important  to  me  now 
than  the  spirit  I  've  seen.  Out  here  at  the  front  one 
does  n't  worry  about  the  French  Army. 

John  R.  Fisher^ 


^  Of  Arlington,  Vermont;  Columbia;  entered  the  Service  in  May,  1916, 
and  a  year  later  was  put  in  charge  of  the  organizing  of  the  Field  Service 
Training  Camp  at  May-en-Multien.  Later  Mr.  Fisher  became  Captain  in 
the  U.S.A.  Ambulance  Service. 


IX 
The  Last  Days  of  the  Battle  of  Verdun 

Rampont  {near  Verdun),  October  6,  191 6 
We  are  located  here  In  the  woods,  overlooking  Rampont, 
between  Sainte-Menehould  and  Verdun,  near  Nixeville, 
and  about  twelve  miles  from  Le  Mort  Homme,  Hill  304 
and  Hill  2^2.  Already  I  have  had  some  wonderful  experi- 
ences during  these  three  weeks  at  Verdun.  During  the 
attack  a  fortnight  ago,  we  certainly  had  a  time  of  it.  In 
addition,  the  loss  of  Kelley  and  the  injuries  to  Sanders,  of 
Section  Four,  over  at  their  poste  at  Marre,  was  a  terrible 
tragedy  to  us.  Both  boys  I  knew  and  talked  with  only  a 
few  days  before  the  affair  happened. 

The  attack  lasted  three  nights,  and  we  had  many 
interesting  adventures.  The  main  stunt  is  to  keep  on  the 
road.  Out  of  eighteen  cars,  four  were  "in  bad" ;  either  their 
drivers  tried  to  climb  trees  or  walls,  or  else  supply  wagons 
with  excited  drivers  kept  to  the  middle  of  the  road,  and, 
of  course,  side-swiped  the  little  Ford  into  a  ditch.  Sec- 
combe  and  Struby  managed  to  ditch  their  cars  nicely. 
Iselin  had  a  most  wonderful  "stunt"  with  his.  After 
climbing  an  embankment,  it  fell  over  on  its  side,  all  four 
wheels  in  the  air;  but  to  our  amazement,  it  "chugged" 
off  nicely  when  righted  by  a  dozen  husky  poilus,  always 
ready  to  help  Americans.  Well,  I  had  a  little  difficulty 
myself  finding  the  road,  as  I  had  made  previously  only 
one  trip  up  to  272,  which  is  about  twelve  miles;  and  with- 
out lights  on  the  dark  highways,  with  much  traffic  going 
up  and  returning,  it  is  sometimes  by  pure  luck  that  a 
fellow  gets  by. 

Many  drivers  as  well  as  their  horses  get  excited,  and 
when  passing  "Dead-Man's  Turn"  and  "Shell-Hole- 
Hollow"  everybody  has  steam  up.  In  addition,  when 
half  the  route  has  been  gone  over,  the  batteries  are  at  our 
rear,  so  that,  with  the  racket  from  the  trucks,  the  roar  of 

248 


x^ 


MARRE-THE   CORNER   ^VHERE   KELLER  WAS   KILLED  AND   SANDERS 
WOUNDED   IN   SEPTEMBER   OF   1916 


.^f^ 


THE   STONE   A13R1   AT  MARRE,   1J17 


SECTION  TWO 


the  guns,  and  the  whistling  of  the  shells  through  the 
heavens,  it  certainly  does  seem  as  though  hell  were  let 
loose.  Then,  too,  the  landscape  all  about  us  is  so  desolate! 
Montzeville  and  Esnes  are  terribly  shot  up  —  trees  cut 
down,  not  a  house  standing  complete,  and  debris  filling 
the  streets;  so  that  in  a  general  state  of  depression  our 
thoughts  continually  rest  on  our  tires,  expecting  at  any 
moment  a  blow-out,  which  means  a  half-hour's  job  in  the 
**  God-forsaken  burg,"  as  we  call  it. 

I  have  had  an  interesting  ''twenty-four  hours'"  serv- 
ice, which  proved  to  be  thirty-six  hours,  during  these 
few  days  that  our  division  has  been  en  repos.  We  were 
kept  on  the  go,  each  making  300  kilometres.  Our  two  cars 
made  several  trips  to  the  many  surrounding  towns  be- 
tween here  and  Vaubecourt,  Revigny,  and  Bar-le-Duc. 
Back  here  far  behind  the  lines,  it  is  quite  a  pleasure  to  be 
able  to  drive  at  night  with  lights.  Revigny,  by  the  way, 
is  approached  via  the  Argonne  —  a  picturesque  country 
it  is  still,  though  there  are  the  many  destroyed  villages 
and  towns,  and  farms  dotted  with  graves  of  the  fallen 
heroes  of  the  Marne. 

The  other  night  it  was  raining  in  torrents  when  I 
struck  Bar  at  i  a.m.,  with  one  malade,  a  victim  of  a  mad 
dog's  bite.  Much  to  my  surprise  the  entree  pour  malades 
was  apparently  closed ,  so  there  was  nothing  for  me  to  do 
but  climb  up  over  the  parapet,  Jean  Valjean  style,  and 
rouse  the  sleepy  hrancardier,  who  hastily  opened  the 
portCy  and  then  I  made  my  get-away  in  the  long  trip  back 
to  Rampont,  some  fifty-five  kilometres. 

It  is  a  great  life,  full  of  interesting  happenings  here 
with  the  soldiers;  long  trips,  including  many  irregular 
and  unexpected  daily  episodes ;  sometimes  eating  at  camp, 
often  at  a  field  hospital  kitchen ;  always  finding  a  way  out 
of  a  tight  fix,  even  though  for  a  moment  all  looks  black; 
while  things  are  made  all  the  better  by  the  fact  that  we 
have  some  bully  good  fellows  here,  the  spirit  and  the 
work  of  the  squad  being  such  that  it  is  a  great  satisfaction 
to  be  a  member  thereof. 

249 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Neuilly,  December  13,  19 16 
On  October  23  last,  during  a  bombardment  in  a  French 
village,  Fromereville,  I  was  hit  in  the  leg  by  a  fragment  of 
a  shell  which  exploded  a  few  feet  in  front  of  my  car. 
Fortunately  the  car  was  empty,  as  I  had  just  returned 
from  a  trip  to  the  field  hospital,  and  was  turning  about 
to  load  up  again  at  the  poste  de  secours.  Fortunately,  too, 
the  eclat  did  not  fracture  the  bone.  Quickly  stopping  the 
car,  which  was  but  a  few  minutes  away  from  an  ahri 
whither  I  managed  to  crawl,  the  doctors  applied  a  band- 
age, and  a  few  minutes  later  I  was  on  a  stretcher.  After- 
wards I  was  informed  that  two  hrancardiers  were  killed 
and  eight  of  us  in  the  town  wounded.  Mine  was  the  only 
car  on  duty  at  the  moment  of  the  bombardment  as  my 
comrade  had  left  some  time  before  on  a  call  to  a  village 
ten  kilometres  back.  After  three  weeks  at  the  small  field 
hospital,  during  which  time  the  piece  of  shell  was  ex- 
tracted, I  was  brought  to  our  hospital,  the  American 
Ambulance  here  at  Neuilly,  where  I  am  making  such 
progress  that  I  am  trusting  to  resume  active  service 
with  my  Section  at  Verdun  very  soon,  if  by  the  will  of 
God  I  am  able.  William  H.  C.  Walker^ 

1  Of  Hingham,  Massachusetts;  enlisted  in  the  Field  Service,  December, 
1915;  became  a  member  of  Section  Two,  at  Pont-a-Mousson;  wounded  at 
Verdun,  October,  1916;  left  the  Field  Service,  August,  19 17,  and  enlisted 
in  the  Canadian  Field  Artillery;  honorably  discharged  from  the  Canadian 
Forces,  December,  19 17,  in  consequence  of  physical  disability. 


X 

Mud  and  Rats  at  Rampont 

Until  November  8,  the  Section  continued  to  wallow  in 
the  mud  of  Rampont,  and  it  was  "some  mud."  It  clung 
in  great  clots  to  our  shoes,  thence  to  our  puttees,  our 
overcoats  and  to  everything  w^e  possessed,  including  our- 
selves. It  was  on  this  date  that  we  packed  up  and  moved 
to  Ville-sur-Cousances,  where,  for  living  quarters,  we  had 
barracks,  large  and  airy;  so  airy  in  fact  that  we  soon 
found  that  our  beds  were  the  only  warm  places.  The 
"General"  clung  to  his  tent  which  he  pitched  off  to  the 
east  in  the  windiest  place  he  could  find,  and  yet  managed 
to  keep  himself  warmer  than  any  one  else  in  the  outfit ; 
and  five  o'clock  always  brought  a  hungry  crowd  to  his 
tent-fiap  clamoring  to  be  admitted  for  tea.  These  barracks 
would  have  been  passable  enough  had  we  been  the  only 
creatures  present,  but  we  were  far  from  being  alone  in 
our  glory.  Rats  were  our  rivals;  rats  of  all  sizes,  small, 
large,  fat  and  thin.  They  were  present  in  ever-increasing 
numbers,  making  our  days  doleful  with  discoveries  of 
half-eaten  cakes  of  chocolate,  biscuits,  and  cheeses,  and 
our  nights  hideous  with  an  uproar  that  sounded  like 
Charlie  Chaplin  in  a  tin-can  factory.  Olympic  games  were 
their  specialty,  followed  by  social  dinners  at  the  Ritz, 
as  Maclntyre's  store  of  supplies  might  have  been  aptly 
termed. 

Our  postes  remained  the  same,  Marre  and  Hill  2^2.  The 
weather  also  remained  the  same,  —  rain,  sleet,  snow  and 
high  winds.  Roads  were  about  the  only  thing  that  changed 
and  they  grew  worse  and  worse.  Because  of  the  bad 
weather  we  had  plenty  of  work  to  do,  —  ten  cars  on  duty 
regularly  with  extra  cars  on  call  and  frequently  the  White 
truck.  Under  the  circumstances,  Diemer,  the  American 
mechanic,  and  Saintot,  the  French  mechanic,  were  kept 

251 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


busy  changing  broken  rear  axles,  broken  rear  springs, 
broken  front  springs,  broken  radiators,  bent  mud-guards, 
and  all  other  parts  that  came  in  contact  with  foreign 
bodies  on  dark,  rainy  nights.  The  crowning  achievement 
of  these  mechanics  was  the  changing  of  an  entire  rear 
axle  at  Marre,  in  the  pitch  darkness  of  a  rainy  night, 
without  a  single  light  to  help  them,  as  Marre  was  exactly 
six  hundred  yards  from  the  Boche  lines  and  of  course  no 
lights  could  be  used. 

MoRT  Homme  — Glorieux  — La  Grange-aux-Bois 

On  December  28,  the  Boches  "pulled  off"  an  attack 
on  the  Mort  Homme  which  kept  us  fairly  busy  for  one 
night;  but  outside  of  that  there  was  little  to  note  other 
than  the  routine  work,  during  which  we  were  looked  after 
with  infinite  kindness  by  the  non-commissioned  officers 
of  the  G.B.D.,  who,  every  morning  at  3  a.m.,  at  Marre, 
shared  with  us  drivers  a  five-course  dinner,  —  and  a  very 
welcome  meal  it  was,  after  a  long  night's  work.  At  Fro- 
mereville,  whatever  they  had  was  ours  and  we  were  as 
members  of  a  large  family.  These  are  things  which  none 
of  us  will  ever  forget. 

On  January  10  the  Section  moved  for  a  short  repos  to 
barracks  at  Glorieux,  and  had  perhaps  two  or  three  calls 
a  day  to  camps  where  the  different  regiments  of  the  divi- 
sion were  located;  but  the  greater  part  of  our  time  was 
spent  in  Verdun  walking  about  the  city. 

On  January  19,  19 17,  we  again  packed  up  our  ever- 
increasing  and  never-decreasing  baggage  and  fled  over 
icy  roads  to  La  Grange-aux-Bois  in  the  Argonne,  where 
we  were  allotted  two  large  rooms,  one  good,  the  other 
bad. 

The  Section  being  divided  at  this  time  into  two  squads, 
it  was  quite  obvious  that  one  squad  would  inevitably 
draw  the  poor  room,  and  as  violent  argument  seemed 
imminent,  the  "General"  and  Harry  Iselin  decided  to 
flip  a  coin  for  it.  Much  to  our  disgust,  the  "General," 
with  true  British  nonchalance,  lost  the  toss,  and  those  of 

252 


SECTION  TWO 


us  who  were  in  his  squad  started  out  immediately  to 
locate  other  and  better  quarters.  Most  of  us  were  success- 
ful —  Conquest,  Struby,  Heilbuth,  and  I  getting  palatial 
chambers  with  electric  lights  and  a  southern  exposure. 
\A'ithout  boasting  I  should  say  that  we  had  discovered 
the  Fifth  Avenue  of  La  Grange-aux-Bois.  Maclntyre  and 
Wheeler  contented  themselves  with  what  might  possibly 
be  called  Madison  Avenue,  while  the  ''General,"  Bigelow 
and  MacLaughlan  —  and  I  make  this  statement  with  no 
reservations  of  any  kind  whatsoever  —  lived  in  a  snug 
little  rat-infested  attic  on  the  Bowery. 

Work  in  the  Argonne 

From  this  time  on  our  life  was  an  easy  one.  We  had  only 
two  main  pastes,  one  up  in  the  woods,  Sept  Fontaines  — 
later  changed  to  Chardon,  the  other  in  a  beautiful  valley 
at  the  Abbaye  de  Chalade.  For  the  first  few  days  we 
worked  another  poste,  Le  Chalet,  nearer  the  lines,  but  the 
Germans  as  usual  became  most  unpleasant  and  nearly 
"finished  off"  several  of  our  cars  as  well  as  several  of 
our  drivers. 

As  there  was  practically  no  work  here,  it  was  decided 
to  send  cars  there  only  on  call  from  La  Chalade,  with 
the  immediate  result  that  there  were  no  more  close 
''squeaks,"  —  at  least  not  for  some  time.  The  Boches 
picked  a  quarrel  with  La  Chalade  and  shelled  the  district 
intermittently,  but  beyond  planting  a  few  shells  in  the 
buildings  and  peppering  one  car  with  eclats,  succeeded  in 
doing  no  damage.  During  our  five  months'  rest  cure  in 
the  Argonne,  the  only  casualty  suffered  by  the  Section 
occurred  in  the  afternoon  of  April  25,  when  Raymond 
Whitney  was  bitten  in  an  unmentionable  part  of  his 
anatomy  by  a  large  black  dog.  This  severe  wound  was 
cauterized  at  the  hospital  amidst  the  cheers  of  the  assem- 
bled drivers. 

As  the  spring  advanced,  rumor  as  to  our  leaving  the 
Argonne  followed  rumor.  First  we  were  to  go  to  Saint- 
Mihiel,  then  to  the  Champagne,  and  finally  we  were 

253 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


relieved  by  Section  Nineteen,  which  arrived  on  May  25th 
when  we  were  put  en  repos  to  await  further  orders. 

John  E.  Boit^ 


1  Of  Brookllne,  Massachusetts;  Harvard,  '12;  joined  Section  Two  in 
May,  191 6;  became  ^oMS-C/te/;  subsequently  was  a  First  Lieutenant,  U.S.A. 
Ambulance  Service. 


XI 

The  Summer  of  191 7 

From  La  Grange-aux-Bois  we  were  ordered  to  Dombasle- 
en-Argonne ;  and  great  was  the  rejoicing ;  for  after  five 
months  of  inactivity  and  monotony,  the  prospect  of  active 
service  was  a  pleasant  one.  We  reached  Dombasle  on  June 
25  without  incident,  and  after  turning  out  Section  Fif- 
teen, took  up  their  quarters  in  a  large  building  at  the 
edge  of  the  town.  They  had  fixed  up  the  place  to  the  wth 
degree  of  comfort,  with  a  shower-bath,  garden,  pavilion, 
and  in  fact  all  the  modern  conveniences.  Hence  it  was 
with  a  well-satisfied  air  and  an  anticipatory  smile  that 
we  settled  down  in  what  seemed  the  best  quarters  we 
had  ever  had.  Before  Section  Fifteen  left,  the  members 
assured  us  of  "easy  work"  and  a  "quiet  time  enjoyed  by 
all,"  and  left  us  to  the  working  out  of  our  own  damnation. 

The  ex- Village  of  Esnes 

There  is  no  use  describing  the  ex-village  of  Esnes  to 
those  members  of  the  Field  Service  who  have  seen  it; 
and  as  a  corollary,  there  is  no  use  in  describing  it  to 
those  members  of  the  Service  who  have  not  seen  it,  for 
they  have  had  it  described  to  them  ad  infinitum  and  ad 
nauseam.  Suf^ce  it  to  say  that  Esnes  was  our  poste  and  it 
lay  under  the  Cote  304  and  in  full  view  of  the  IMort 
Homme  —  and  the  seeing  was  fairly  good  in  those  days. 
We  have  never  yet  found  out  whether  our  friends  of 
Section  Fifteen  were  amusing  themselves  at  our  expense 
or  not,  about  the  prophesied  "quiet  time"  which  we  were 
to  have  there.  Anyway,  shortly  after  our  arrival  we  found 
ourselves  in  the  midst  of  one  of  the  nicest  little  parties 
ever  given  on  the  Verdun  front,  and  there  are  those  who 
claim  that  they  have  seen  "some  parties"  on  said  front. 
It  seems  that  the  Boches  had  been  meditating  the  pro- 

255 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


spective  taking-back  of  various  portions  of  Cote  304 
which  they  had  lost  previously  and  elected  June  29  as 
the  most  propitious  time  to  try  to  do  so.  Whatever  faults 
the  Boche  may  or  may  not  have,  and  we  do  not  claim 
that  he  is  without  them,  one  of  them  was  not  to  let  things 
stagnate  on  the  Verdun  front.  So  for  the  next  three  days 
we  had  ten  cars  continuously  on  duty,  and  what  Is  more, 
they  were  running  continuously. 

This  at  the  front.  Meanwhile,  events  at  the  rear  were 
not  entirely  devoid  of  interest.  The  Section,  or  rather  the 
part  of  it  which  was  not  up  at  the  poste  was  at  supper 
when  something  suspiciously  like  an  arrivee  was  heard 
in  the  immediate  vicinity.  The  "older"  men  looked  at 
one  another,  the  rookies  looked  at  the  ''General,"^  who 
went  on  with  his  soup.  A  second  came  in,  still  closer; 
then  a  third  which  knocked  the  plaster  from  the  ceiling, 
a  generous  piece  of  which  fell  in  the  "General's"  soup. 
He  rose,  calmly  looked  round  and  muttered,  "Well,  I'll 
be  damned,"  —  and  left  those  parts.  He  did  n't  run,  for 
that  would  have  been  undignified,  but  he  simply  left  — 
and  he  was  n't  the  last  to  reach  the  shelter  of  a  neighbor- 
ing and  friendly  haystack  some  hundred  yards  off  out 
in  the  open. 

We  moved  camp  that  night  w^ith  never  a  sigh  for  our 
late  palatial  and  very  unhealthy  quarters.  What  wnth 
Boche  attacks  and  French  counter-attacks,  we  found 
little  time  to  do  anything  but  eat,  sleep,  and  work,  and 
for  the  entire  period  from  June  29  until  July  18,  when  our 
Division,  the  73d,  finally  ended  that  particular  chap- 
ter of  Verdun  history  by  making  one  big  and  very 
successful  attack,  retaking  all  the  ground  which  had 
been  lost  and  taking  many  prisoners,  the  Section  did 
all  the  evacuations  for  these  several  attacks  and  won 
for  itself  a  Divisional  Citation  —  the  second  from  this 
Division. 

1  Francis  D.  Ogilvie,  a  Britisher,  of  Lindfield,  Sussex,  who  was  Sotis- 
Chef  and  later  Chef  of  the  Section,  and  who,  when  the  United  States 
entered  the  war,  transferred  to  the  British  Ambulance  Service. 

256 


SECTION  TWO 


The  Death  of  Harmon  Craig 

For  us,  the  most  tragic  part  of  the  whole  summer  came 
on  July  15,  when  Harmon  Craig  was  killed  at  Dombasle. 
After  having  gone  over  some  of  the  worst  stretches  of 
road  in  the  whole  sector  for  three  weeks  with  a  smile  on 
his  face  and  a  jest  on  his  lips,  he  was  wounded  at  his  poste^ 
by  the  side  of  his  car  while  it  was  being  loaded,  and  died 
six  hours  later  as  bravely  as  he  had  lived.  He  was  buried 
in  the  cemetery  back  of  Ville-sur-Cousances,  and  as  he 
was  laid  to  rest,  the  guns  behind  Montzeville,  roaring  out 
a  last  farewell,  sped  the  73d  over  the  top  to  avenge  him. 

A  Peaceful  Repos  at  Ligny-en-Barrois 

On  July  23  we  received  our  orders  to  leave,  and  with  as 
much  joy  as  we  had  arrived  a  month  before,  we  packed 
up,  and  after  a  last  visit  to  Craig's  grave,  set  out  for 
Nangois-le-Grand,  a  village  of  several  hundred  inhabi- 
tants seven  kilometres  from  Ligny-en-Barrois,  where  we 
arrived,  after  a  dusty  run  of  several  hours. 

The  quiet  of  the  little  town  was  as  grateful  to  our 
nerves  as  the  beauty  of  the  surrounding  country  to  our 
eyes,  accustomed  to  desolation.  After  a  month  of  hard 
work,  it  was  good  to  lie  in  our  cars,  for  we  lived  in  our 
cars,  which  were  drawn  up  in  a  field,  happy  in  the  assur- 
ance that  ^Ye  or  ten  of  us  would  n't  have  to  hurry  up  to 
the  front  and  after  thinking  great  calm  thoughts,  serve 
the  best  interests  of  the  country  by  drifting  off  to  sleep, 
not  to  awaken  until  10.30  the  next  morning.  It  was  good 
to  lie  under  the  trees  and  meditate,  or  simply  to  lie  under 
the  trees.  It  was  good  to  stroll  in  the  dusk  and  finally 
wind  up  a  perfect  day  with  a  perfect  omelette.  In  short, 
it  was  Paradise! 

Then  after  a  week  of  this  pastoral  life,  as  the  charms 
of  the  succulent  omelette  gave  way  to  those  of  the  fra- 
grant grape,  wine  and  wassail  became  the  order  of  the 
day.  Who  can  adequately  describe  the  farewell  parties  of 
Walker,  or  do  justice  to  the  entertaining  which  Whitney 

^57 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


furnished  on  that  occasion?  Who  can  describe  the  fare- 
well parties  of  Whitney  and  Whytlaw  and  the  eloquent 
farewell  speeches,  made  on  these  occasions,  or  the  still 
more  eloquent  responses  by  Maclntyre,  that  "prince 
of  hon  vivants''  ?  What  pen  could  picture  the  joys  of 
whympus  hunts,  commenced  precisely  at  12.01  p.m.;  of 
crap  games  commencing  at  reveille  (10.30  a.m.)  and  lasting 
until  taps  (12.30  a.m.)  ;  of  swimming  parties  in  the  canal, 
which  invariably  ended  at  the  Cafe  de  la  Meuse  at  Tron- 
ville?  Who  can  declare  our  elation  at  the  decoration  of 
Whitney,  Ames,  and  the  "Mec,"  a  condition  of  affairs 
which  naturally  called  for  another  party?  And  finally, 
how  can  we  relate  how  deeply  our  hearts  were  touched 
w^hen  we  found  that  our  cars  had  been  decorated  by  the 
girls  of  the  village  as  the  short  weeks  of  repos  came  to  a 
close  on  August  16? 

W^e  left  for  Sommaisne  that  day,  and  I  think  we  may 
say  with  truth  that  our  departure  was  regretted  by  the 
entire  village ;  certainly  we  regretted  departing,  and  look 
back  on  those  five  short  weeks  as  on  a  pleasant  dream  of 
golden  sunshine,  green  hills,  and  France  in  summertime. 
We  remained  at  Sommaisne  three  days,  after  which  we 
followed  our  new  Division,  the  48th,  to  Souhesme. 

Henry  D.  M.  Sherrerd^ 

1  Of  Haddonfield,  New  Jersey;  Princeton,  '17;  enlisted  in  the  Field  Service 
in  May,  1917;  served  in  the  U.S.A.  Ambulance  Service  until  the  end  of 
the  war. 


XII 
In  Line  at  Verdun 

Ville-sur-Cousances,  Thursday,  June  28,  1917 
We  were  now  brought  face  to  face  with  the  reality  of  the 
coming  offensive,  and  began  to  appreciate  on  what  an 
enormous  and  terrifying  scale  a  modern  attack  is  carried 
out.  As  soon  as  we  reached  the  main  road  we  came  upon 
an  endless  line  of  camions  all  rumbling  along  in  the  dark- 
ness, each  filled  with  infantry  to  its  uttermost  capacity, 
the  men  being  jammed  in  like  cattle.  There  were  also 
guns,  huge  guns  such  as  I  have  never  seen  in  the  Argonne. 
For  three  hours  we  kept  passing  this  solemn  parade  of 
men  and  cannon.  At  each  cross-road  were  stationed  offi- 
cers and  sentinels  with  shrouded  lanterns  who  directed 
and  urged  on  the  procession.  Most  of  the  men  were  riding 
in  silence,  many  even  managing  to  sleep  in  their  awkward 
positions;  but  occasionally  we  passed  a  camion  whose 
crew  was  chanting  some  weird  song  of  war  or  love.  I  am 
told  that  this  concentration  of  men  has  been  going  on  for 
many  days.  Here  at  Cousances  the  whole  atmosphere  is 
impregnated  with  the  vague  imminence  of  an  approach- 
ing offensive. 

This  region  is  totally  different  from  the  Argonne  where 
we  were  before.  The  country  is  barren  and  deserted  and 
the  fields  of  stubble  stretch  for  miles  along  the  white  and 
dusty  roads.  The  sun  is  burning  everything  and  the  thick 
white  alkali  dust  gives  all  objects  a  gray  and  withered 
appearance.  We  no  longer  see  the  beautiful  rich  green 
of  the  Argonne  vegetation.  Everything  seems  baked  and 
dead.  Every  three  or  four  miles  one  comes  upon  a  small 
ruined  village,  now  deserted.  The  whole  region  has  been 
blasted  by  shells;  nowhere  does  the  country  fail  to  re- 
mind one  of  the  terrible  struggle  that  has  been  going  on 
for  so  long  in  this  sector.  Cousances,  itself  nothing  but  a 

259 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


group  of  wrecked  houses,  is  quite  close  to  the  front,  and 
there  is  certainly  much  more  activity  here  than  in  our 
former  sector. 

Putting  it  literally,  this  Section  was  baptized  in  fire  as 
soon  as  it  reached  here,  for  to-night  about  eight-thirty 
a  despatch-rider  came  tearing  up  to  the  bureau  on  his 
motor-cycle  and  said  that  the  Boches  were  attacking  at 
Hill  304.  So  instantly  we  began  to  hustle  around  and 
prepare  for  heavy  work. 

Harper  and  I  were  the  first  to  leave,  he  being  the 
driver  and  myself  orderly.  As  we  passed  out  of  Cousances 
we  saw  several  artillery  field  pieces  hurrying  up  the  road 
toward  the  first  lines,  and  later  passed  two  battalions  of 
the  346th  drawn  up  by  the  roadside  and  ready  to  be  sent 
ahead.  A  hea\y  rain  was  falling  and  frequent  flashes  of 
lightning  lit  up  the  country;  but  the  night  was  not  very 
dark  and  w^e  had  little  difficulty  in  keeping  on  the  road, 
which  is  well  screened  all  the  way.  But  of  course  we  could 
not  use  any  lights.  French  batteries  on  both  sides  of  us 
were  firing  steadily,  and  the  whistle  of  the  departing 
shells  was  incessant ;  but  we  heard  no  Boche  shells  coming 
in.  At  the  poste  we  found  the  Lieutenant  hurriedly  giving 
directions  to  the  fellows,  and  heard  that  the  French  were 
to  counter-attack  at  daybreak. 

Hell's  Corner 

No  blesses  had  come  in  as  yet  but  many  were  expected. 
Before  long  Whytlaw  came  down  with  a  load  and 
Harper  and  I  started  up  to  relieve  him.  I  had  heard  a  lot 
about  the  danger  of  this  poste,  and  in  no  detail  was  it 
exaggerated.  The  road  is  covered  with  stones  which  have 
been  hurriedly  thrown  into  shell-holes,  and  there  were 
also  many  new  holes  which  had  not  been  filled  in.  For 
over  a  mile  after  making  "Hell's  Corner"  we  are  in  plain 
sight  of  the  Boche  trenches.  We  can  see  their  star  shells 
start  from  the  ground,  and  it  seems  as  if  they  exploded 
directly  over  our  heads.  The  road  is  being  shelled  all  the 
time  but  one  can  never  go  fast  on  account  of  the  danger 

260 


fANEL  FROM  AN  AMBULANCE  SHOWING  THE  FAMOUS 

CRESCENT  OF  THE  MOROCCAN  DIVISION 

WHICH  SECTION  TWO  SERVED 


SECTION  TWO 


of  these  shell-holes.  We  passed  trucks,  and  some  squads 
of  infantry  which  were  difficult  to  see  in  the  darkness.  By 
this  time  the  din  of  the  cannonading  was  terrific  and  the 
bursting  of  the  Boche  shells  occurred  at  no  very  comfort- 
able distance. 

The  road  grew  worse  and  worse,  and  finally  it  became 
almost  impassable.  I  doubt  if  any  car  but  a  Ford  could 
ever  make  that  trip  at  night.  I  did  n't  go  sightseeing  at 
all,  but  having  reached  our  destination,  made  a  fairly 
straight  line  toward  the  ahri,  where  we  learned  that 
Bixby's  car  had  just  been  smashed  by  a  shell  while  stand- 
ing in  the  yard  and  would  be  useless  for  the  rest  of  the 
night.  We  were  also  told  that  the  Boches  had  just 
dropped  in  some  gas  bombs,  and  we  were  ordered  to  be 
sure  that  our  masks  were  in  readiness.  Ray  and  I,  the 
first  to  go  back  after  having  a  brief  smoke  in  the  shelter 
of  the  ahri,  carried  an  assis  and  two  couches.  We  breathed 
a  lot  more  easily  after  once  gaining  ''Hell's  Corner,"  and 
accomplished  the  rest  of  the  trip  without  mishap.  It  was 
after  two  when  we  got  back  here.  But  as  a  counter-attack 
was  expected  we  had  to  await  word  and  be  ready  to  start 
out  again  any  minute.  So  both  of  us  simply  crawled  into 
our  car  and  managed  to  fall  asleep  very  easily.  We  slept 
soundly  until  the  Lieutenant  woke  us  and  told  us  to  go 
to  bed  as  we  probably  should  n't  be  needed. 

Heavy  Work  during  an  Attack 

Sunday,  July  i 
It  is  now  three  days  since  the  attack  commenced  and  it 
appears  to  be  still  going  on.  There  are  Boche  attacks  and 
then  French  counter-attacks,  then  artillery  duels,  and 
then  more  attacks.  As  close  as  we  are  to  the  lines,  we 
know  very  little  of  what  happens,  or  who  is  winning.  The 
losses  have  been  terrible  on  both  sides,  but  this  does  not 
mean  that  the  attacks  have  failed.  Our  Section  has  been 
working  at  a  terrific  pace.  I  am  so  tired  that  the  events 
of  the  past  few  days  seem  all  confused  and  even  unreal. 
It  is  such  a  wonderful  relief  to  be  sitting  way  back  here 

261 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


in  perfect  safety  and  with  no  responsibilities  that  I  feel 
as  if  I  had  just  recovered  from  a  long  sickness.  I  slept 
quite  late  Friday  after  the  hard  work  of  the  night  before, 
and  after  rising  had  little  to  do  for  the  rest  of  the  day; 
both  sides  had  ceased  activities  for  the  time,  and  we 
heard  but  little  firing  until  evening.  But  we  were  warned 
to  be  prepared  for  a  large  dose  at  night,  as  the  French 
were  scheduled  to  attempt  a  rush  on  their  lost  posi- 
tions. 

About  6.30,  just  after  the  dinner  gong  had  rung  and  as  I 
was  leaving  my  room,  there  was  suddenly  a  "swish-bang" 
and  a  big  shell  exploded  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road, 
about  fifty  yards  from  our  headquarters.  Of  course  I 
flopped  on  the  ground  as  soon  as  I  heard  the  warning 
whistle,  and  then  rising,  proceeded  with  more  or  less  un- 
dignified hustle  for  the  ahri  under  our  main  building. 
Everybody  else  thought  of  the  very  same  place  and  joined 
in  the  general  stampede.  In  about  three  minutes  another 
came  in  and  we  could  hear  the  eclats  flying  about  outside 
and  clipping  pieces  of  stone  off  the  houses.  After  a  few 
more  shells  the  Boches  let  up  on  us  for  awhile  and  we 
went  upstairs  and  began  dinner.  But  we  had  n't  finished 
our  soup  before  they  started  dropping  again,  the  first  one 
so  startling  us  that  we  spilled  more  or  less  soup  around 
the  room.  We  continued  eating,  however,  until  suddenly 
there  was  a  terrific  explosion  followed  by  a  horrible 
crunching  sound  of  falling  bricks  and  plaster.  A  shell 
larger  than  the  others  had  struck  the  house,  or  what 
remained  of  the  house,  directly  opposite  our  building.  It 
would  have  been  foolish  for  us  to  remain  where  we  were, 
because  our  building,  already  tottering  from  the  efTects 
of  many  shellings,  might  bury  us  alive  if  one  of  those  big 
marmites  ever  landed  squarely  on  it.  The  ahri  was  also 
a  dangerous  place,  being  very  poorly  made  and  liable  to 
cave  in  upon  us.  The  safest  place,  therefore,  was  out 
doors;  so  we  all  streaked  for  a  field  which  was  well  re- 
moved from  all  the  crumbling  foundations  which  made 
up  this  village  and  which  are  ready  to  fall  almost  from 

262 


SECTION  THREE 


a  man  learned  in  the  ways  of  the  mountains,  a  scout  in 
the  employ  of  the  French. 

'*We  sipped  another  coffee,  smoked  a  cigarette,  and 
then,  bowing  to  the  old  men,  went  out  into  the  moonlit 
street,  leaving  them  to  their  meditations.  As  I  write  this 
from  the  tent,  the  sky  is  darkening,  a  chill  wind  sweeps 
down  from  the  snow  and  gutters  the  candle.  I  am  glad 
that  our  blankets  are  many." 

As  the  days  went  by,  our  camp-site,  where  we  were 
the  first  comers,  began  to  assume  the  aspect  of  a  boom 
mining  town.  Several  camion  sections  appeared.  Numer- 
ous ravitaillement  groups  moved  in.  Tents  and  nondescript 
structures  of  earth  and  ammunition  boxes  sprang  up. 
Across  the  river  ten  thousand  Russians  were  encamped, 
and  all  night  their  singing  came  to  us  beautifully  across 
the  water.  All  day  and  all  night,  war's  traffic  ground  and 
creaked  by  us.  The  lines  had  shaken  down ;  the  two  forces 
were  now  entrenched,  facing  each  other  just  beyond 
Monastir,  and  the  transport  was  accumulating  munitions 
for  an  offensive.  In  the  first  camp  opposite  struggled  long 
lines  of  Serbian  carts  —  carts  such  as  Adam  used  to  bring 
the  hay  in.  The  sad-faced  burros  plodded  by,  loaded  with 
everything  from  bread  to  bodies.  Soldiers  —  French, 
Italian,  Serb,  and  Russian — slogged  by.  But  this  activity 
was  confined  to  the  narrow  zone  of  the  roads.  Beyond, 
the  grim,  desolate  country  preserved  its  lonesomeness 
and  impressed  upon  the  soul  of  man  the  bleakness  and 
harshness  of  a  land  forlorn.  For  the  most  part  the  days 
were  gray  and  sombre,  with  low-hanging  clouds  which 
frequently  gave  out  rain  and  sleet  and  caused  the  river 
to  rise  so  that  more  than  once  we  were  in  danger  of  being 
flooded  out.  But  occasionally  there  would  be  a  clear 
morning,  when  the  clouds  were  driven  back  and  the  rising 
sun  would  light  the  mountains,  turning  the  snow  to  rose 
and  orange.  We  were  growing  very  tired  of  the  evacua- 
tion work,  of  the  long,  weary  runs.  There  was  no  excite- 
ment to  tinge  the  monotony.  We  were  becoming  "fed 

359 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


up."  The  Squad,  therefore,  hailed  with  joy  the  news  that 
the  Section  was  to  move  up  to  Monastir  and  there  take 
up  the  front-line  work. 

Though  the  exact  date  of  our  departure  was  not  an- 
nounced, we  knew  it  would  be  soon  and  we  commenced 
at  once  to  make  ready.  Helmets  once  more  became  items 
of  interest  and  motors  were  tested  with  an  interest  born 
of  empirical  knowledge  that  the  fire  zone  was  no  place  to 
make  repairs.  Everybody  brightened  up;  interest  and 
optimism  pervaded  the  camp.  And  then  the  word  came 
that  we  should  leave  on  the  17th  of  December. 

Monastir 

Men  stumbled  about  in  the  darkness  falling  over  tent 
pegs  or  pulling  at  icy  ropes.  Now  and  then  a  motor  in 
response  to  frantic  cranking,  coughed,  sputtered  and  then 
''died."  Down  near  the  cook-tent  some  one  was  swearing 
earnestly  and  fervently  at  the  mud.  It  was  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  and  the  only  light  was  that  given  off  by 
the  stars.  The  Squad  was  breaking  camp,  and  we  were  to 
be  in  Monastir,  twenty-five  kilometres  distant,  before 
daybreak.  Somehow,  in  spite  of  the  darkness,  the  tents 
were  struck  and  packed,  and  the  cars  rolled  out  on  the 
bumpy  roads. 

With  the  assistance  of  our  lights  we  were  able  to  hold 
a  good  pace  until  we  reached  the  dip  in  the  road  which 
had  been  designated  as  the  point  where  the  convoy  should 
halt.  Here  we  extinguished  all  our  lights  and  made  sure 
that  everything  was  right.  Ahead  we  could  see  flashes, 
but  whether  from  our  own  guns  or  bursting  shells  we 
could  not  determine.  The  sound  of  firing  came  plainly  to 
our  ears.  The  cars  now  got  away  at  fifteen  seconds'  inter- 
vals. A  faint,  gray  light  was  showing  in  the  east,  just  per- 
mitting a  dim  vision  of  the  car  ahead.  At  the  entrance  to 
the  city,  in  a  particularly  exposed  spot,  there  was  some 
confusion  while  the  leading  machine  circled  about  in  an 
endeavor  to  pick  the  right  street;  then  we  were  off  again, 

360 


SECTION  THREE 


heading  for  the  northeast  quarter  of  the  city.  Crossing  a 
small,  wall-confined  stream  by  a  fragile  wooden  bridge, 
we  wound  and  twisted  through  a  maze  of  crooked  streets, 
and  finally,  just  as  the  first  glow  lightened  the  minarets, 
came  to  a  halt  in  a  narrow  street.  Where  my  car  stopped 
was  a  shattered  house  and  the  street  was  carpeted  with 
debris,  the  freshness  of  which  testified  to  the  fact  that  the 
shells  causing  the  damage  must  have  come  in  not  long 
before.  Even  as  I  clambered  out  of  the  machine,  two 
shells  crashed  in  somewhere  over  in  another  street. 

Our  cantonment  consisted  of  two  five-roomed,  two- 
storied  Turkish  houses  which  stood  within  a  small  walled 
compound.  The  top  floors,  or  attics,  of  these  houses  were 
free  from  partitions  and  gave  just  sufficient  space  for  our 
beds,  ranged  around  the  walls.  The  place  was  clean  and 
dry,  and  though,  of  course,  there  was  no  heat  and  no 
glass  in  the  windows,  it  was  infinitely  better  than  the 
tents.  The  rooms  below  were  used  for  the  mess,  the  galley, 
and  for  the  French  staff,  and  one  room  which  had  win- 
dows and  a  stove  was  set  aside  for  a  lounge.  The  CO. 
occupied  a  small  stone  building  which  formed  part  of  the 
compound  wall,  a  sort  of  porter's  lodge.  Beneath  the 
houses  were  semi-cellars,  and  in  one  of  these  were  stored 
the  spare  gas  and  oil.  The  cars  were  at  first  parked  along 
a  narrow,  blind  street  which  extended  a  short  distance 
directly  in  front  of  quarters.  As  it  was  ascertained,  how- 
ever, that  here  they  were  in  plain  view  of  the  enemy,  they 
were  moved  back  on  another  street  and  sheltered  from 
sight  by  intervening  buildings.  The  atelier  was  established 
in  a  half-demolished  shed  about  two  hundred  yards  up  the 
street  from  the  compound. 

A  Bizarre  Poste 

Our  quarters  were  situated  about  midway  between  two 
mosques.  In  front  of  one  of  these  mosques  which  faced  on 
a  tiny  square  hung  a  tattered  Red  Cross  flag,  betokening 
a  field  dressing-station.  Here  we  got  our  wounded.  The 
lines  at  this  time  were  just  beyond  the  outskirts  of  the 

361 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 

city,  and  the  wounded  were  brought  directly  from  the 
trenches  to  this  mosque,  from  whence  it  was  our  work  to 
carry  them  back  to  the  field  hospitals  out  of  range  of  the 
guns.  I  doubt  if  there  ever  was  a  more  bizarre  poste  than 
this  of  the  mosque.  The  trappings  and  gear  of  Moham- 
medanism remained  intact.  The  muezzin's  pulpit  draped 
with  its  chain  of  wooden  beads  looked  down  on  the 
wounded  men  lying  on  the  straw-carpeted  floor.  On  the 
walls,  strange  Turkish  characters  proclaimed  the  truths 
of  the  Koran.  The  little  railed  enclosure,  wherein  the 
faithful  were  wont  to  remove  their  sandals  before  tread- 
ing the  sacred  ground,  now  serv^ed  as  a  bureau.  All  was 
the  same,  save  that  now  the  walls  echoed,  not  the  muez- 
zin's nasal  chant,  but  the  groans  of  wounded  men  who 
called  not  on  Allah,  but  on  God. 

At  first  we  found  the  twisted  streets  very  confusing. 
They  rarely  held  their  direction  for  more  than  a  hundred 
yards  and  their  narrowness  prevented  any  "observation 
for  position."  There  seemed  no  names  or  identifications 
either  for  streets  or  quarters,  and  did  one  inquire  the  way 
of  some  befezzed  old  Turk,  the  reply  would  be  '^  Kim  hilir 
Allah''  —  Who  knows?  God.  But  gradually  we  grew  to 
know  these  ways  until  on  the  darkest  of  nights  we  could 
make  our  way  through  the  mazy  blackness. 

The  city  sprawled  about  on  a  more  or  less  level  plain 
at  one  end  of  the  long  valley  which  extended  southward 
to  the  Macedonian  frontier.  Some  of  its  houses  straggled 
up  the  hills  which  rose  immediately  back  of  the  city 
proper.  Beyond  these  hills  rose  the  mountains  from  w^hich 
at  a  distance  of  two  kilometres  the  enemy  hurled  down 
his  hate.  The  normal  population  of  Monastir  was  perhaps 
fifty  thousand  souls,  a  population  of  that  bastard  com- 
plexity found  only  in  the  Balkans.  When  we  reached  the 
city,  a  month  after  its  capture  and  occupation  by  the 
French,  something  like  forty  thousand  of  this  civilian 
population  yet  remained,  the  others  having  fled  to  Fiorina 
or  gone  even  farther  south.  Conditions  were  still  unset- 
tled. Daily,  spies  were  led  out  to  be  shot,  and  we  were 

362 


A   FEW   MOMENTS  AFTER   A   SHELL  HAD   KILLED   THE   LITTLE   GIRL 
IN   MONASTIR 


Fiske  Baird  Magnin  Ariuour 

ROAD-BUILDING    BY   MEMBERS   OF   SECTION   THREE   IN   NEGOCANI 


SECTION  THREE 


warned  not  to  wander  unarmed  in  the  remote  sections. 
Snipers,  from  the  protection  of  covered  houses,  shot  at 
passing  soldiers  and  at  night  it  was  unsalubrious  to  go 
about.  Lines  were  drawn  about  the  town  and  none  but 
military  transport  permitted  to  pass.  Famine  prices  pre- 
vailed. In  the  bazaars,  captured  dogs  were  butchered  and 
offered  for  sale.  A  few  stores  remained  open.  Above  their 
doors  were  signs  in  the  queer,  jumpy  characters  of  the 
Serbian  alphabet,  signs  which  it  would  take  a  piccolo 
artist  to  decipher.  Within,  matches  were  sold  for  half  a 
drachmi  (lo  cents)  a  box,  eggs,  7  drachmi  a  dozen,  and 
sugar  at  6  drachmi  a  kilo.  All  moneys,  save  Bulgar,  were 
accepted;  the  drachmi,  the  piastre,  the  franc,  the  lepta,  the 
para,  but  the  exchange  was  as  complicated  as  a  machine 
gun,  and  no  man  not  of  the  Tribe  of  Shylock  could  hope 
to  solve  its  mysteries. 

The  Guns  that  command  Monastir 

Though  most  of  the  houses  were  closed  and  shuttered 
as  protection  against  shell  splinters,  life  seemed  to  go  on 
much  as  usual.  There  was  no  traffic  in  the  streets,  save 
at  night  when  the  army  transports  came  through,  or  when 
our  machines  went  by  with  their  loads,  but  the  populace 
passed  and  repassed,  bartered  and  ordered  its  life  with 
the  phlegmatic  fatalism  of  the  Easterner.  The  enemy 
from  his  point  of  vantage  saw  every  move  in  the  city. 
His  guns  commanded  its  every  corner.  His  surveys  gave 
him  the  range  to  an  inch.  Daily  he  raked  it  with  shrapnel 
and  pounded  it  with  high-explosive.  No  man  in  Monastir, 
seeing  the  morning's  sun,  but  knew  that,  ere  it  set,  his 
own  might  sink.  At  any  time  of  the  day  or  night  the 
screeching  death  might  come,  did  come.  Old  men,  old 
women,  little  children,  were  blown  to  bits,  houses  were 
demolished,  and  yet,  because  it  was  decreed  by  Allah, 
it  was  inexorable.  The  civil  population  went  its  way.  Of 
course,  when  shells  came  in  there  was  terror,  panic,  a 
wailing  and  gnashing  of  teeth,  for  not  even  the  fatalism 
of  Mohammed  could  be  proof  against  such  sights.  And 

363 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


horrible  sights  these  were.  It  was  nothing  to  go  through 
the  streets  after  a  bombardment  and  see  mangled  and 
torn  bodies;  a  man  with  his  head  blown  off;  a  little  girl 
dead,  her  face  staring  upward,  her  body  pierced  by  a 
dozen  wounds;  a  group  in  grotesque  attitudes,  with,  per- 
haps, an  arm  or  a  leg  torn  off  and  thrown  fifty  feet  away. 
These  in  Monastir  were  daily  sights. 

One  afternoon  I  remember  as  typical.  It  was  within  a 
few  days  of  Christmas,  though  there  was  little  of  Yuletide 
in  the  atmosphere.  At  home,  the  cars  were  bearing  the 
signs,  "Do  Your  Christmas  Shopping  Early,"  but  here 
in  Monastir,  where,  as  "Doc"  says,  "a  chap  was  liable 
to  start  out  full  of  peace  and  good  will  and  come  back 
full  of  shrapnel  and  shell  splinters,"  there  was  little  in- 
ducement to  do  Christmas  shopping.  Nevertheless,  we 
started  on  one  of  those  prowling  strolls  in  which  we  both 
delighted.  We  rambled  through  the  tangled  streets,  poked 
into  various  odd  little  shops  in  quest  of  the  curious, 
dropped  into  a  hot  milk  booth  where  we  talked  with  some 
English-speaking  Montenegrins,  and  then  finally  crossed 
one  of  the  rickety  wooden  bridges  which  span  the  city's 
bisecting  stream.  By  easy  stages,  stopping  often  to  probe 
for  curios,  we  reached  the  main  street  of  the  city.  Here 
at  a  queer  little  baker}^  where  the  proprietor  shoved  his 
products  into  a  yawning  stove-oven  with  a  twelve-foot 
wooden  shovel,  we  got,  for  an  outrageous  price,  some  sad 
little  cakes.  As  we  munched  these,  we  stood  on  a  corner 
and  watched  the  scene  about  us.  It  was  a  fine  day,  the 
first  sunny  one  we  had  experienced  in  a  long  time.  Many 
people  were  in  the  streets,  a  crowd  such  as  only  war  and 
the  Orient  could  produce :  a  sprinkling  of  soldiers,  mostly 
French,  although  occasionally  a  Russian  or  an  Italian  was 
noticed;  a  meditative  old  Turk,  stolid  Serbian  women, 
little  children  —  a  lively,  varied  picture.  Our  cakes  con- 
sumed, "Doc"  and  I  crossed  the  street  and,  a  short  way 
along  a  transverse  street,  stopped  to  watch  the  bread  line. 
There  were  possibly  three  hundred  people,  mostly  women, 
gathered  here  waiting  for  the  distribution  of  the  farina 

364 


SECTION  THREE 


issued  by  the  military  to  the  civil  population.  For  a  while 
we  watched  them,  and  then,  as  the  street  ahead  looked 
as  if  it  might  yield  something  interesting  in  booths,  we 
continued  along  it.  In  another  fifty  yards,  however,  its 
character  changed ;  it  became  residential,  and  so  we  turned 
to  retrace  our  steps.  Fortunate  for  us  it  was  that  we  made 
the  decision.  We  had  gone  back  perhaps  a  dekametre, 
when  we  heard  the  screech.  We  sprang  to  the  left-hand 
wall  and  flattened  ourselves  against  it  as  the  crash  came. 
It  was  a  ''155"  H.E.  Just  beyond,  at  the  point  toward 
which  we  had  been  making  our  way,  the  whole  street  rose 
into  the  air.  We  sped  around  the  corner  to  the  main 
street.  It  was  a  mass  of  screaming,  terror-stricken  people. 
In  quick  succession  three  more  shells  came  in,  one  knock- 
ing "Doc"  off  his  feet  with  its  concussion.  The  wall  by 
which  we  had  stood  and  an  iron  shutter  close  by  were  rent 
and  torn  with  eclats.  One  of  these  shells  had  struck  near 
the  bread  line.  How  many  were  killed  I  never  knew. 
*'Doc"  for  the  moment  had  disappeared,  and  I  was 
greatly  worried  until  I  saw  him  emerge  from  an  archway. 
There  was  now  a  lull  in  the  shelling.  All  our  desire  for 
wandering  about  the  city  had  ceased.  We  started  back 
toward  quarters.  Before  we  were  halfway  there,  more 
shells  came  in,  scattered  about  the  city,  though  the  region 
about  the  main  street  seemed  to  be  suffering  most.  Cross- 
ing the  stream,  we  saw  the  body  of  a  man  hanging  half 
over  the  wall  and  near  by,  the  shattered  paving  where  the 
shell  had  struck. 

In  such  an  atmosphere  we  lived.  Each  day  brought 
its  messages  of  death.  On  December  19,  I  saw  a  spy  taken 
out  to  be  shot.  On  the  20th,  a  house  next  our  quarters  was 
hit.  Two  days  later,  when  evacuating  under  shrapnel  fire, 
I  saw  two  men  killed.  Constantly  we  had  to  change  our 
route  through  the  city  because  of  buildings  blown  into 
the  street. 

Robert  Whitney  Imbrie^ 

^  From  Behind  the  Wheel  of  a  War  Ambulance.  Courtesy  of  Robert  M. 
McBride  &  Company  of  New  York. 


IV 

Albanian  Postes 

Soon  after  our  arrival  at  Monastir,  the  Albanian  work 
was  also  got  under  way  and  two  cars  were  sent  over  there 
—  one  to  Koritza,  the  other  to  Sulim,  on  the  west  shore 
of  Lake  Presba.  They  went  over  on  December  30,  crossing 
the  pass  with  great  difficulty.  In  the  middle  of  January  I 
got  back  from  there  with  Fenton  from  a  two-day  rescue 
trip,  one  of  the  cars  having  a  broken  wheel.  The  col  is  so 
bad  that  we  got  over  it  in  the  supply  car  stripped  of  its 
body  for  the  trip.  If  dry,  the  road  is  just  possible;  other- 
wise you  are  cut  off.  Hence  the  cars  stayed  over  there. 
Supplies  for  the  men  had  to  be  sent  by  ox  or  mule,  a  two 
days'  journey;  oil  and  gas  going  also  by  mule.  It  was  very 
interesting  over  there,  where  nothing  moved  out  of  the 
villages  without  a  military  escort,  and  the  fellows  were 
all  armed  to  the  teeth. 

Officers  at  Koritza  did  n't  dare  ride  out  of  town  except 
on  the  road  toward  Fiorina  and  then  only  for  the  first 
four  or  five  kilometres,  which  were  patrolled.  No  soldier 
went  out  in  the  street  without  a  gun.  They  all  said  they 
were  living,  too,  on  a  political  volcano,  and  in  fact,  in  the 
midst  of  it  all,  along  in  December,  a  Republic  of  Albania 
\yas  founded!  But  to  us  it  seertied  all  very  quiet,  with 
excellent  cake-shops  open.  We  slept  in  a  hotel  with  an 
English-speaking  proprietor  where  there  were  no  fleas, 
and  were  shaved  in  the  latest  ''scream"  in  American 
barber  chairs,  the  barber  having  been  ten  years  in  New 
Haven.  He  installed  this  splendor  on  the  main  corner  and, 
getting  only  three  clients  a  day,  declared  the  Albanians 
to  be  "a  lot  of  cheap  guys." 

LovERiNG  Hill 


366 


SECTION  THREE 


The  First  Auto  Trip  into  Albania 

This  is  an  account  of  the  trip  of  the  first  auto  into 
Albania. 

At  Fiorina,  we  loaded  up  with  food,  gas,  and  oil,  enough 
for  two  days'  continual  travelling  and  started  out  with 
an  infirmier  to  help  take  care  of  the  blesses  on  the  way 
back.  We  got  over  the  Fisoderi  grade  this  time  with- 
out pushing,  for  I  knew  the  grade  better.  From  there  on 
it  was  the  most  interesting  trip  I  ever  have  made.  For 
twenty  kilometres  we  went  along  a  valley  and  had  to 
ford  the  river  ten  or  eleven  times.  The  people  may  have 
seen  autos  before,  but  they  had  n't  seen  them  enough  to 
satisfy  their  curiosity ;  so  they  would  drop  everything  as 
they  worked  in  near-by  fields  and  rush  to  the  road  to 
watch  us  pass.  When  we  got  about  twenty  kilometres 
from  the  second  poste,  both  man  and  beast  were  afraid 
of  the  machines.  They  would  see  us  coming,  and  by  the 
time  we  got  to  them  they  were  well  across  a  ditch,  where 
I  suppose  they  imagined  they  were  safe.  Even  the  old, 
sleepy  oxen  showed  a  lot  of  "pep"  when  we  came  along, 
and  backed  and  twisted  around  so  in  their  yokes  that  the 
drivers  had  a  hard  time  untangling  them. 

At  one  village  we  were  stopped  by  a  doctor  who  said 
that  a  hlesse  was  en  route  in  a  wagon  that  had  been  sent 
for  him  the  night  before.  So  we  went  on  to  meet  him,  but 
found  that  the  wagon  did  not  have  the  wounded  man 
after  all.  We  decided,  therefore,  to  go  on  as  long  as  the 
Ford  would  run,  and  soon  crossed  the  line  into  Albania, 
passing  through  several  towns  that  had  been  pretty  well 
shot  up  by  both  the  Bulgars  and  the  Allies  as  the  former 
retreated  two  months  before. 

The  roads  were  almost  impassable,  as  the  old  bran- 
car  dier  had  told  us  would  be  the  case,  and  nothing  but  a 
Ford  could  have  got  over  them.  At  length  we  arrived  at 
Koritza,  our  destination,  and  waited  for  the  doctor  to 
make  inquiries.  The  surprise  was  on  us  when  several 
Albanians  speaking  English  crowded  around  the  ma- 

367 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


chines.  They  had  been  in  Worcester,  Massachusetts,  and 
had  accumulated  a  roll  of  bills  large  enough  to  retire  on 
over  here.  You  find  a  lot  like  that.  Finally  we  found  the 
poste  de  secoiirs.  Imagine  our  further  surprise  when  the 
hlessS  greeted  us  in  perfect  English,  saying,  "I  am  glad 
you  have  come."  When  he  heard  we  were  Americans,  he 
added:  "So  am  I  —  an  American  volunteer,  born  and 
raised  in  New  York  City." 

Eleven  days  before  our  arrival  this  poor  devil  had  been 
shot  four  times,  and  after  lying  out  in  front  of  the  trenches 
all  day,  he  was  picked  'up  by  hrancardiers  and  brought 
down  from  the  mountains  on  a  mule.  The  lines  were  only 
fifteen  kilometres  away,  but  it  took  eleven  hours  to  ac- 
complish this.  We  carried  him  twenty-five  kilometres  that 
afternoon,  and  stopped  all  night  in  a  little  town. 

We  left  Albania  the  following  morning  and  crept  back 
at  a  snail's  pace  —  about  ninety  out  of  the  hundred  kilo- 
metres in  low.  On  the  way  we  picked  up  other  blesses,  less 
grave  cases,  and  would  take  turns  going  ahead,  with  the 
grave  case  in  the  second  machine.  If  the  front  car  got  an 
awful  jolt,  the  second  one  would  stop,  while  we  took  our 
American  hlesse  out  and  ran  the  machine  over  the  ditch 
or  bump.  Then  we  would  put  him  back  again,  and  go  on. 

We  got  to  the  second  poste  about  noon,  and  had  our 
Thanksgiving  dinner  of  the  supplies  we  had  brought 
along.  Probably  it  was  the  lightest  turkey  dinner  either 
of  us  ever  had,  for  it  consisted  of  singe,  or  canned  beef, 
biscuits,  cooking-chocolate,  and  some  wine.  But  it  went 
down  with  much  satisfaction. 

We  arrived  at  the  Fiorina  Hospital  about  five  o'clock, 
and  there  received  many  congratulations  from  the  Me- 
decin  Chef  and  several  doctors,  who  thought  we  had 
done  something  wonderful,  for  it  took  a  wagon  train  four 
days  to  make  one  way  of  this  trip. 

Donald  C.  Armour^ 

*  Of  Evanston,  Illinois;  Yale,  '17;  entered  the  Field  Service  in  April, 
1916,  and  served  in  Sections  Three  and  Eight;  subsequently  a  Second  Lieu- 
tenant, U.S.  Field  Artillery. 

368 


SECTION  THREE 


Albanian  Adventures 

January  i,  191 7 
It  is  now  New  Year's  Day  and  I  am  more  than  a  hundred 
kilometres  from  where  I  was  when  I  first  started  this 
letter  —  away  over  two  mountain  ranges.  I  don't  know 
when  I  shall  get  back  to  the  Section,  as  I  am  now  attached 
to  a  regiment  of  infantry.  I  have  arranged  to  have  oil, 
gas,  and  carbide  sent  to  me  by  pack-mules,  and  I  shall 
stay  here  probably  until  my  car  gives  out.  Then  I  shall 
have  to  go  back  on  horseback  —  a  four  or  five  days'  trip. 

Talk  about  Richard  Harding  Davis  or  Anthony  Hope 
adventure  stories!  If  I  were  a  writer  I  would  beat  any  of 
theirs.  For  instance,  I  am  now  armed  with  a  carbine,  a 
revolver,  and  one  hundred  and  twenty  rounds  of  ammuni- 
tion, to  protect  myself  from  brigands  along  the  road.  Can 
you  imagine  anything  more  dime-no velly?  The  Colonel 
of  the  regiment  was  quite  upset  when  he  found  that  I  was 
not  armed  and  immediately  gave  orders  to  arm  me  to  the 
teeth. 

Imbrie  and  Winant  have  gone  off  to  find  their  Colonel 
and  I  stay  here  for  another  day  or  two  before  we  all  go  to 
hunt  up  the  regiment  —  over  another  mountain  range. 
I  understand  it  is  an  almost  impossible  route,  over  which 
no  autos  have  ever  gone  before.  In  the  meanwhile  I  am 
comfortably  billeted  here  at  the  house  of  a  man  who  lived 
for  years  in  St.  Louis  and  speaks  English. 

Later 

I  AM  over  another  mountain  range  and  ** busted  down." 
I  am  living  in  a  little  mountain  village  with  the  Colonel, 
who  has  just  become  a  general,  and  his  staff.  Until  I  get 
some  spare  parts,  which  will  probably  be  a  week  at  least, 
I  shall  have  to  stay  here,  for  I  am  about  a  hundred  miles 
from  anywhere. 

For  the  first  day  the  General  did  n't  have  any  food 
with  him,  so  I  found  a  chicken  and  some  beans  and  cooked 
them,  thus  managing  to  provide  a  pretty  good  dinner. 

369 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


The  next  day  I  walked  over  to  my  car  and  extricated  the 
canned  goods  which  I  had  in  it,  and  we  ate  with  reHsh. 
At  last  a  limited  amount  of  food  arrived  and  we  are  fixed. 
The  whole  situation  is  really  most  amusing. 

I  am  at  the  farthermost  part  of  the  lines,  way  up  in 
the  mountains  between  two  lakes.  The  inhabitants  of  the 
country  are  wilder  than  the  ancient  American  Indians 
and  live  in  about  the  same  way,  although  they  have  mud 
houses  instead  of  tents.  They  speak  a  mixture  of  Greek, 
Albanian,  and  Serbian,  which  even  the  interpreter  can't 
understand.  The  country  is  full  of  wolves  which  come 
down  to  the  edge  of  town  at  night  looking  for  stray  dogs 
or  donkeys.  I  saw  two  yesterday,  but  was  too  far  away 
to  get  a  shot. 

J.  Marquand  Walker  1 

On  the  Serbian  Frontier 

Negocani,  January  3,  191 7 
For  over  two  weeks  we  have  been  up  at  the  very  front, 
but  have  now  been  ordered  back  a  few  kilometres  to  a 
village  right  on  the  frontier.  We  w^ere  very  loath  to  go, 
but  now  that  we  are  settled  here,  I  think  every  one  realizes 
that  staying  up  there  was  an  unnecessary  risk  to  incur, 
for  the  daily,  even  hourly,  bombardments  from  the  enemy 
positions  on  the  hills  looking  straight  down  into  town  had 
been  getting  more  and  more  frequent  and  the  inhabitants 
were  either  leaving  or  lying  low  in  their  cellars.  Finally, 
a  shell  landed  in  a  little  courtyard,  perhaps  seventy  yards 
away  from  us,  and  more  or  less  damaged  six  of  our  cars. 
I  had  thirteen  pieces  in  mine,  damage  done  to  two  tires, 
a  spoke  and  a  radius  rod,  while  a  large  hole  was  made  in 
the  crank  case  which  necessitated  taking  down  the  entire 
motor.  Roddy  Montgomery,  who  was  standing  between 
two  machines,  perhaps  five  yards  off,  was  knocked  over 

1  Of  New  York  City;  Harvard,  *ii;  entered  the  Service  in  September, 
191 5,  and  later  became  a  Section  leader;  received  a  commission  in  U.S.  Ar- 
tillery and  was  promoted  to  Captain.  The  above  are  extracts  from  home 
letters  and  letters  addressed  to  the  Paris  Headquarters  of  the  Field  Service. 


SECTION  THREE 


and  his  car  battered  up;  but  he  escaped  unhurt.  The 
worst  feature  was  that  a  little  girl  of  seven,  who  used  to 
play  around  and  talk  to  us  while  we  were  oiling  and 
greasing,  was  literally  blown  to  pieces  and  fragments  of 
her  burned  flesh  were  spattered  all  over.  Half  of  her  head 
landed  on  the  top  of  my  car  and  had  to  be  scraped  off 
with  essence.  It  was  pretty  sickening.  After  this,  the 
Divisionnaire  decided  it  was  no  use  having  the  Section 
"shot  up"  little  by  little;  so  we  moved  our  quarters.  The 
work  is  still  the  same,  however,  as  the  cars  go  up  from 
here  at  6  a.m.,  and  evacuate  back  to  Fiorina,  seventy 
kilometres  in  all,  while  some  of  us  are  even  busier  than 
before. 

We  are  installed  in  a  large  mud  farmhouse  with  a  huge 
yard,  a  well,  and  half-dozen  outbuildings,  used  as  kitchen, 
dining-room,  and  bureau.  This  yard,  when  we  came  here, 
was  two  feet  deep  in  straw,  rubbish,  and  filth  of  all  sorts, 
and  it  took  two  days  of  shovelling,  burning,  disinfecting, 
and  whitewashing,  to  make  it  habitable ;  but  we  are  now 
well  installed.  The  village  is  deserted  save  for  troops,  so 
any  one  wanting  firewood  calmly  attacks  a  house  with  a 
pick-axe,  smashes  the  mud  walls,  and  walks  off  with  the 
beams,  rafters,  or  anything  else  he  fancies.  It  is  very  con- 
venient, and  avoids  paper  asses.  All  around  us  are  the 
trenches  and  boyaux  of  the  famous  Kenali  lines,  from 
which  the  Bulgars  were  driven  just  before  the  capture  of 
Monastir  last  month.  Some  of  them  are  marvellously  con- 
structed, and  collectors  of  ironware  are  revelling  in  souve- 
nirs of  all  sorts  —  shells,  fuses,  grenades,  bayonets,  etc., 
most  of  which,  however,  I  think  will  be  found  too  heavy 
to  lug  around  and  will  be  discarded  long  before  our  return. 

A  New  Republic 

Just  before  going  up  from  our  first  camp,  I  had  a  most 
interesting  three  days*  trip  into  Albania,  driving  the 
Medecin  Chef  of  the  Q.G.  and  the  Medecin  Chef  of  Fiorina 
Hospital  over  to  Koritza  to  see  the  Colonel  in  command 
of  the  troops  in  that  region.  Two  cars  started  with  us; 

371 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


but  after  all  hands  had  pushed  at  them  valiantly  for  hours, 
they  were  obliged  to  turn  back  on  the  col  of  Pisoderi, 
thirteen  kilometres  straight  uphill  from  Fiorina  to  the 
summit,  1650  metres  high,  whence  you  get  a  magnificent 
view  over  the  entire  valley  of  the  Cerna.  I  had  no  partic- 
ular trouble  in  Hill's  little  touring  car,  and  we  reached 
our  destination  late  that  night,  after  sixteen  hours'  steady 
driving  over. some  of  the  worst  roads  possible  to  imagine. 
At  one  time  we  followed  the  bed  of  a  river,  going  through 
it  eleven  times,  and  once  just  escaping  trouble  as  the 
water  drowned  the  carburetor  twice.  At  Koritza  we  were 
royally  welcomed,  and,  as  my  passengers  treated  me  as  a 
friend  instead  of  a  chauffeur,  I  was  the  Colonel's  guest, 
dined  and  lunched  with  him  and  his  Etat-Major,  and  was 
entertained  by  the  younger  officers. 

The  political  situation  is  extremely  interesting  here. 
At  the  beginning  of  the  war  the  Greeks  overran  this  part 
of  Albania,  but  made  themselves  most  unpopular  through 
unjust  taxation.  Last  summer  the  Venizelos  crowd  ex- 
pelled the  royalist  officials,  but  proved  no  better.  As  the 
Powers  in  19 12  pronounced  Albania  independent,  but  as 
the  country  has  had  no  government  since  the  Prince  of 
Wied  was  *' fired,"  some  prominent  citizens  of  Koritza, 
mostly  retired  comitajes,  asked  Colonel  Ducoing's  per- 
mission to  proclaim  a  republic.  He  assented,  the  Greeks 
w^ere  driven  out,  and  a  new  council  was  elected,  or  self- 
appointed,  just  before  we  arrived.  The  flag  of  the  new 
republic,  dark  red  with  a  strange-looking,  black-winged 
creature  on  it,  and  having  a  tricolor  ribbon  around  the 
staff,  had  just  been  hoisted  on  the  town  hall.  The  whole 
thing  is  more  or  less  comic-opera  stuff,  but  the  inhabit- 
ants take  themselves  very  seriously.  Since  then  several 
other  towns  have  joined  the  movement.  Every  one  is 
armed  and  no  one  dares  go  more  than  a  few  kilometres 
from  town,  as  the  country  swarms  with  comitajes  and 
the  Austrian  posts  are  only  a  short  distance  away,  ten 
or  twelve  kilometres,  on  a  mountain  range. 

Our  arrival  caused  immense  excitement,  as  ours  was 

372 


SECTION  THREE 


the  second  motor  car  ever  seen  in  those  parts,  the  first 
being  Colonel  Ducoing's,  in  which  he  arrived,  but  has  not 
used  since.  Just  lately  two  of  our  cars  have  climbed  the 
pass  and  are  now  working  over  in  Albania,  one  at  Koritza, 
the  other  farther  north  near  Lake  Presba.  Hill,  with  a 
mechanic,  has  just  returned  from  a  flying  trip  over  there 
in  order  to  repair  an  axle,  and  says  the  Lord  only  knows 
how  they  can  ever  get  back,  as  the  roads  are  getting  worse 
every  day.  In  a  word,  it  is  all  very  interesting  here  and  I 
think  we  are  being  extremely  useful. 

John  Munroe  ^ 


*  Of  New  York  City;  Harvard,  '13;  joined  the  Field  Service  on  May  6, 
1916,  serving  with  Section  Three;  was  Sous-Chef  in  Macedonia  until  May, 
191 7;  entered  the  School  at  Fontainebleau  and  became  a  Second  Lieutenant 
of  Artillery  in  the  French  Army. 


^_^^,^..^<^^. 


V 

MONASTIR 

The  work  at  Monastir,  where  we  were  finally  stationed, 
went  on  all  right.  In  this  country  you  very  rarely  get 
up  to  postes  de  secours.  We  evacuated  from  a  town  two 
or  three  kilometres  back,  along  a  flat  and  on  the  whole 
a  very  good  road,  twenty-eight  kilometres  to  a  village 
where  there  was  a  relay,  and  where  another  section  took 
the  wounded  farther  to  the  rear.  The  work  was  very  in- 
teresting, for  it  was  done  mostly  over  the  territory  con- 
quered the  previous  November. 

At  Monastir  we  were  quartered  very  comfortably  in 
two  good  houses.  But  the  resources  of  the  town  were 
somewhat  limited  and  food  prices  very  high;  two  chick- 
ens, for  instance,  costing  25  francs,  and  two  eggs,  2  francs 
20.  Then,  too,  rifle  bullets  flew  about  certain  of  the  out- 
lying quarters,  '*2io's"  wandered  in  occasionally,  and  a 
good  deal  of  other  Boche  attention  of  less  distressing 
variety  was  often  our  lot.  We  had  to  sneak  in  at  night,  in 
convoy,  for  the  exit  of  the  town  was  often  pounded,  and 
it  was,  perhaps,  the  best  gauntlet-running  ever  seen  —  on 
a  perfectly  straight,  open  road  with  an  excellent  surface, 
and  in  the  daytime  absolutely  free  of  traffic.  So,  on  the 
whole,  we  were  pretty  well  off  at  Monastir.  But  finally, 
in  January,  1917,  we  were  ordered  to' fall  back,  as  the 
place  got  too  lively  for  the  cantonment  of  the  Section, 
and  we  established  ourselves  fourteen  kilometres  in  the 
rear,  at  Negocani,  a  mud  village,  the  houses  being  of 
bricks,  made  of  that  material  strengthened  with  manure 
and  straw  —  the  origin  of  reinforced  concrete,  probably. 

The  customs  at  Negocani  were  very  curious.  Take  this 
one,  for  instance!  If  you  were  in  need  of  firewood,  you 
would  look  about  until  you  found  a  house  unoccupied 
by  soldiers,  which  you  then  proceeded  to  demolish  —  a 
very  easy  task,  as  it  is  made  of  mud  —  in  order  to  get 

374 


SECTION  THREE 


the  beams ;  the  floors  and  doors,  in  most  cases,  having  all 
disappeared  long  before  our  coming.  The  absence  from 
the  village  of  all  civilians  rendered  the  proceeding  all  the 
easier.  The  day  before  we  entered  upon  our  first  wood 
hunt,  we  found  two  houses  which  were  still  in  fairly  good 
condition,  set  our  seal  on  them,  and  arranged  matters 
with  the  commandant  d'armes.  But  the  next  morning, 
when  we  arrived  on  the  spot  at  eight  o'clock,  we  found 
that  all  the  doors  and  floors  of  one  of  them  had  been 
carried  off  by  a  flock  of  Italians  who  had  reached  town 
during  the  previous  evening. 

We  were  well  off  in  our  house,  which  was  big  enough 
for  the  men  to  sleep  in.  It  had,  on  the  first  floor  upstairs, 
two  rooms  which  were  separated  by  a  hallway.  I  had  a 
room  on  the  ground  floor,  which  was  literally  right  on  the 
ground.  The  French  contingent  of  our  party  occupied  the 
other  ground-floor  room,  while  the  downstairs  hall,  which 
was  provided  with  a  fireplace,  served  at  night  as  a  sitting- 
room.  An  outhouse,  with  smoky  rafters,  to  which,  in  a 
few  minutes,  with  the  aid  of  a  pick,  we  added  windows, 
completed  our  quarters. 

This  place  was  not  as  interesting  as  Monastir,  but  much 
safer,  for  at  the  latter  town  we  were  very  much  cooped 
up,  having  to  stay  within  the  city  limits  all  the  time,  as 
everything  outside  of  the  walls  was  in  plain  sight  of  the 
enemy  and  some  of  the  outlets  were  within  rifle  range. 
Moreover,  there  were  quite  frequent  shellings  of  Monastir 
so  that  staying  indoors  was  much  to  be  encouraged.  For 
instance,  one  shell  landed  in  a  little  court  where  some 
of  our  cars  were  parked,  got  four  of  them  and  a  poor  child 
who  was  blown  to  atoms  and  parts  of  whose  body  were 
found  in  and  on  half  a  dozen  cars.  On  this  occasion  my 
car,  unfortunately,  was  about  the  heaviest  sufferer  —  one 
front  wheel,  radiator,  and  water-inlet  connection  being 
shot  through  and  through,  while  the  headlight  and  quite 
a  lot  of  wiring  were  cut  up.  But  worst  of  all,  the  wind- 
shield and  top  were  ruined  and  a  horrible  piece  of  the 
little  child  wound  round  and  round  the  steering-wheel. 

375 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


This  affair  was  nothing  but  a  coup  court;  but  still  the 
Germans  were  shelling  objectives  that  were  close  enough 
for  pieces  of  shell  to  fall  about  us  very  freely,  and,  though 
we  knew  we  were  backing  out,  it  was  not  till  we  got  to 
Negocani  that  we  felt  how  glad  we  were  to  be  out  of 
Monastir,  especially  as  later  the  entrance  to  this  last  town 
got  shelled  daily  and  on  this  account  we  had  to  change 
the  hours  of  evacuation. 

LovERiNG  Hill. 

A  Gas  Attack  on  Monastir 

Monastir,  January  5 
We  have  just  had  a  gas  attack  here. 

We  sat  there  in  my  car  after  our  lucky  and  narrow 
squeak  with  exploding  shells,  conversing  with  each  other 
and  with  passing  poilus.  Everything  was  quiet,  and  we 
started  to  fix  ourselves  for  the  night.  The  straw  inside  the 
old  Turkish  mosque,  as  we  learned  from  previous  experi- 
ence, was  entirely  too  full  of  life  for  comfortable  slumber ; 
so  we  fixed  a  couple  of  stretchers  out  in  the  front  worship- 
ping hall,  where  air  was  better,  too. 

The  shelling  had  recommenced  by  the  time  we  tried  to 
sleep.  Suddenly  the  ohus  began  to  come  in  faster  and 
faster,  their  whistles  blending  one  into  another  until  it 
was  all  one  solid  roar  and  whiz.  The  explosions  sounded 
like  shrapnel,  and  it  was  not  until  a  shell  broke  our  win- 
dow that  we  learned  it  was  gas.  Our  masks  were  out  in 
the  cars,  and  as  we  ran  out  to  get  them  we  almost  suffo- 
cated, although  we  tried  to  hold  our  breath.  Back  in  the 
mosque  it  was  better,  as  the  air  was  nearly  untainted, 
the  windows  being  air-tight.  Fortunately  the  dozen 
malades  and  stretcher-bearers  in  the  mosque  were  all 
provided  with  masks,  so  in  less  uncomfortable  state  of 
mind,  we  sat  down  to  wait.  There  was  nothing  else  to  do, 
of  course.  All  this  time  the  shells  were  coming  in  at  a 
fearful  rate,  all  of  them  landing  right  in  our  quarter. 
Now  and  then  a  man  would  stumble  in  from  the  street, 
choking  from  the  gas  and  calling  for  a  mask.  Pretty  soon 

376 


H 

;?; 

o 

H 
i-i     s 

o  cu 


SECTION  THREE 


the  doctor  appeared  in  his  stocking  feet,  and  he  took  care 
as  best  he  could  of  the  asphyxiated. 

In  the  meanwhile  things  were  steadily  becoming  worse 
and  worse.  The  streets  were  a  cloud  of  gas,  and  inside  the 
mosque  it  was  getting  more  and  more  difficult  to  breathe, 
when  suddenly,  as  I  was  standing  by  the  door  talking 
with  Petit  jean,  there  came  a  deafening  explosion,  which 
blew  down  the  door  and  a  solid  wave  of  gas  caught  us 
in  the  face.  For  a  moment  there  was  complete  confu- 
sion, men  running  every  which  way  and  some  lying  down 
gasping,  coughing,  and  calling  for  masks.  How  they  lost 
them  is  incomprehensible,  for  almost  every  one  had  a 
mask  on  when  the  shell  came.  The  doctor,  who  was  stand- 
ing beside  me,  had  his  mask  off  for  the  moment  and  got  it 
tangled  up  in  trying  to  put  it  on  again ;  but  fortunately 
he  was  saved  by  the  sergeant-major,  who  clapped  it  on 
the  doctor's  face.  But  he  was  sick  for  several  hours  after- 
wards. At  the  same  time  we  picked  up  some  masks  and 
put  them  on  the  choking  men  who  were  lying  about.  Then 
the  room  was  plunged  in  darkness.  At  this  moment,  I 
heard  Petit  jean  calling  for  another  infirmier  to  bandage 
him  up.  The  doctor  was  out  of  commission,  the  infirmier 
unfindable,  and  I  came  to  the  rescue,  finding  Petitjean 
in  the  little  room  in  back.  His  hand  was  bleeding  badly; 
but  I  did  my  best  to  fix  him  up;  rather  a  difficult  job, 
however,  because,  with  the  gas-mask  on,  I  could  hardly 
see  what  I  was  doing.  But  I  did  the  best  I  could  under  the 
circumstances.  First  I  poured  some  alcohol  over  the  hand, 
and  found  that  the  wound  was  not  so  serious  as  I  at  first 
thought.  But  it  was  painful  and  bleeding  enough.  Then, 
to  make  sure,  I  used  peroxide  which  I  sponged  off  with 
cotton  and  put  on  some  iodine,  bandaging  the  hand  up 
as  tightly  as  I  could  in  order  to  stop  the  flow  of  blood  — 
an  effective  dressing,  even  if  it  was  not  very  scientific. 

But  before  I  had  finished  with  Petitjean,  I  was  told 
that  another  man  had  been  completely  knocked  out  by 
the  gas,  and  that  the  only  way  to  save  him  was  to  rush 
him  over  to  the  hospital  in  hope  of  finding  some  oxygen. 

377 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


This  I  immediately  decided  to  do.  There  was  still  a  lot 
of  gas  on  the  street ;  but  I  had  to  take  my  mask  off  to 
drive.  I  finally  got  the  asphyxie  over  to  the  hospital ;  but 
no  doctor  was  to  be  found,  there  was  no  oxygen,  and 
everything  seemed  hopeless.  So,  as  a  last  resort,  I  tried 
artificial  breathing;  but  the  poor  fellow  died  while  I  was 
working  on  him,  and  I  had  to  take  his  body  back  to  the 
mosque,  where,  in  the  meanwhile,  a  gas  shell  had  come 
in  through  the  outer  door  and  exploded  in  the  anteroom, 
not  ten  feet  from  where  John  and  I  made  our  beds  earlier 
in  the  evening;  and  when  we  collected  our  bedclothes 
next  morning,  they  were  covered  with  debris  and  satu- 
rated with  gas.  At  this  point  a  slight  breeze  sprang  up, 
which  made  breathing  possible  again ;  the  doctor  came  to, 
and  though  awfully  sick,  stuck  to  his  job,  thereby  sav- 
ing the  lives  of  several  men,  while  I  spent  most  of  the 
time  making  coffee  over  an  alcohol  lamp,  coffee  being  a 
great  relief  to  men  who  have  been  gassed.  All  this  hap- 
pened with  bewildering  rapidity  in  less  time  than  one 
takes  to  write  about  it. 

John  was  great.  While  I  was  fixing  up  Petitjean,  he  got 
his  lantern  and  quieted  the  men,  who  were  mostly  intoxi- 
cated by  the  gas,  and  did  not  know  what  they  were  doing. 
His  chief  work  was  to  make  them  keep  their  gas-masks 
on,  which  saved  more  than  one  of  them.  Altogether  the 
shelling  lasted  about  three  hours,  during  which  time 
thousands  of  these  gas  obus  came  in?  with  the  result  that 
two  hundred  civilians  were  killed  and  many  left  dying. 
Few  soldiers  lost  their  lives,  thanks  to  the  gas-masks. 

John  and  I  did  not  begin  to  feel  the  effects  of  the  gas 
until  the  next  day,  and  then  were  uncomfortably  sick. 
It  takes  a  long  while  to  get  the  gas  out  of  one's  system, 
and  the  continual  smell  and  taste  of  the  stuff  is  sickening 
for  days.  My  clothes  and  blankets  still  smell  of  it,  though 
they  have  been  out  in  the  breeze  for  forty-eight  hours. 
After  this  I  will  take  high-explosive  shells  with  all  their 
eclats  in  preference  to  gas. 

J.  Marquand  Walker 

378 


SECTION  THREE 


Our  Sector  Extended 

Toward  the  end  of  January  we  took  over  another  seg- 
ment of  the  Hne,  a  section  southeast  of  Monastir,  collect- 
ing our  blesses  from  a  village  called  Skocivir,  situated  on 
the  banks  of  the  Cerna,  some  twenty-five  kilometres 
from  Negocani.  Skocivir  was  the  highest  point  reached 
by  wheeled  transport,  though  some  fifteen  kilometres 
back  from  the  line.  From  here  munitions  and  ravitaille- 
ment  were  carried  into  the  mountains  on  muleback,  the 
wounded  coming  out  by  the  same  torturing  transport. 
A  few  kilometres  before  reaching  Skocivir  we  passed 
through  the  town  of  Brod,  the  first  Serbian  town  retaken 
by  the  Allies  after  the  great  retreat  of  191 5,  the  point  at 
which  the  Serbs  first  reentered  their  country.  Here  the 
Cerna  was  crossed  by  two  bridges.  Through  the  pass 
beyond  poured  French,  Serbs,  and  Italians  to  reach  their 
allotted  segment  of  line.  The  congestion  and  babble  at 
this  point  was  terrific. 

We  saw  much  of  the  Italians.  Long  lines  of  their  troops 
were  constantly  marching  forward,  little  men  with  ill- 
formed  packs.  As  soldiers  they  did  not  impress  us,  but 
they  had  a  splendid  motor  transport  —  big,  powerful 
cars  well  adapted  to  the  Balkan  mud  and  handled  by  the 
most  reckless  and  skilful  drivers  in  the  Allied  armies. 
The  men  were  a  vivacious  lot  and  often  sang  as  they 
marched. 

*'An  Army  of  Old  Men" 

In  marked  contrast  were  the  Serbs,  ''the  poor  relations  of 
the  Allies."  For  the  most  part  they  were  middle-aged 
men,  clad  in  nondescript  uniforms  and  with  varied  equip- 
ment. They  slogged  by  silently  —  almost  mournfully.  I 
never  saw  one  laugh,  and  they  smiled  but  rarely.  They 
were  unobtrusive,  almost  unnoticed;  yet  when  a  car 
was  mired,  they  were  always  the  first  to  help,  and  withal 
they  were  invested  with  a  quiet  dignity  which  seemed 
to  set  them  apart.  I  never  talked  with  a  soldier  of  any 

379 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


army  who  had  seen  them  in  action  but  who  praised  their 
prowess. 

The  going,  or  rather  ploughing,  beyond  Brod  was 
particularly  atrocious,  and  it  frequently  took  from  two 
and  a  half  to  three  hours  to  cover  the  fifteen  kilometres. 
At  one  point  the  way  was  divided  by  two  lonely  graves 
which  lay  squarely  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  the  traffic 
of  war  passing  and  repassing  on  either  side.  Brod  service 
was  particularly  uninteresting,  as  the  point  at  which  we 
collected  our  blesses  was  too  far  back  of  the  line  to  offer 
the  excitement  afforded  by  being  under  fire,  save  when 
there  was  an  air  raid.  Then,  too,  the  roads  were  so  con- 
gested and  in  such  terrible  condition  that  the  driving  was 
of  the  most  trying  sort,  and  it  frequently  meant  all  day 
evacuation  without  one  hot  meal.  Our  work  at  this  time 
w^as  particularly  heavy;  we  were  serving  three  divisions, 
the  one  back  of  Monastir,  the  Brod  division,  and  the 
division  in  Albania.  In  short,  we  were  covering  the  work 
of  three  motor  Sections. 

During  all  these  days  the  enemy  continued  to  rain  his 
fire  upon  Monastir.  Gradually,  but  none  the  less  surely, 
the  city  was  withering  away.  Here  a  house,  there  a  shop 
or  bazaar,  became  a  mass  of  debris.  Huge  holes  gaped  in 
the  streets;  tangled  wire  swung  mournfully  in  the  wind;  ■ 
once  I  saw  a  minaret  fairly  struck,  totter  a  second,  and 
then  pitch  into  the  street,  transferred  in  a  twinkling  from 
a  graceful  spire  into  a  heap  of  brick  and  mortar,  overhung 
by  a  shroud  of  dust.  Though  perhaps  half  of  the  city's 
forty  thousand  inhabitants  had  fled  as  best  they  might, 
as  many  more  remained.  Generally  they  stayed  indoors, 
though  the  flimsy  walls  offered  little  protection  and  there 
were  no  cellars.  When  they  emerged,  it  was  to  slink  along 
in  the  shadows  of  the  walls.  Scuttling,  rather  than  walk- 
ing, they  made  their  way,  every  sense  tensed  in  anticipa- 
tion of  the  coming  of  "the  death  that  screams."  If  Verdun 
had  seemed  the  City  of  the  Dead,  Monastir  was  the  Place 
of  Souls  Condemned  to  Wander  in  the  Twilight  of  Purga- 
tory. The  fate  of  the  population  civile  was  a  pitiable  one. 

380 


SECTION  THREE 


In  a  world  of  war,  they  had  no  status.  Food,  save  the 
farina  issued  by  the  miHtary,  was  unobtainable,  and  fuel 
equally  wanting.  Scores  were  killed.  As  for  the  wounded, 
their  situation  was  terrible.  Drugs  were  too  precious, 
bandages  too  valuable,  and  surgeons*  time  too  well  occu- 
pied for  their  treatment.  Their  case  would  have  been 
without  hope  had  it  not  been  for  a  neutral,  non-military 
organization  of  the  Dutch  which  maintained  in  Monastir 
a  small  hospital  for  the  treatment  of  civilians.  This  hos- 
pital, established  in  a  school,  did  splendid  work,  and  its 
staff  are  entitled  to  high  praise  and  credit. 

For  this  hospital,  one  morning,  I  got  the  strangest 
load  my  ambulance  ever  carried  —  four  little  girls.  As 
I  lifted  their  stretchers  into  the  car,  their  weights  seemed 
as  nothing.  Three  were  couches;  the  fourth,  a  bright  little 
thing,  wounded  in  the  head  by  H.E.  eclat,  sat  by  my  side 
on  the  driving  seat  and  chatted  with  me  in  quaint  French 
all  the  way  to  the  hospital. 

Meanwhile  the  days  grew  perceptibly  longer  and  the 
sun,  when  it  appeared,  had  a  feeble  warmth.  A  new  Sec- 
tion coming  out  from  France  relievea  our  cars  in  Albania, 
and  Giles  and  the  others  coming  back  from  Koritza  re- 
ported that  the  city  was  under  frequent  plane  bombard- 
ment and  the  population  demoralized. 

For  some  time  the  talk  of  an  attack  on  Hill  248  and 
the  line  back  of  Monastir  had  been  growing.  There  seemed 
little  doubt  now  that  such  an  attack  would  shortly  be 
launched  with  the  object  of  driving  the  enemy  back  and 
freeing  the  city  from  artillery  fire.  Daily  our  fire  grew 
more  intense.  The  roads  were  congested  with  upcoming 
troops  and  new  batteries  going  into  position.  Word  came 
in  that  the  Section  was  to  hold  itself  in  readiness  to  shift 
quarters  to  Monastir.  Then,  at  last,  one  night  came  the 
order  to  report  for  action  in  the  city. 

Robert  Whitney  Imbrie  ^ 


^  From  Behind  the  Wheel  of  a  War  Ambulance.  Courtesy  of  Robert  M. 
McBride  &  Company  of  New  York. 


VI 

The  Section  goes  to  Greece 

Section  Three  was  relieved  from  the  Monastir  sector 
May  26,  1 91 7,  and  moved  to  Fiorina  about  twenty  kilo- 
metres back.  Here  orders  were  received  attaching  the 
Section  to  the  French  Provisional  Division  which  was 
moving  into  Greece  to  settle  once  and  for  all  the  ever- 
present  Greek  threat  at  the  Allied  lines  of  communica- 
tion in  Macedonia. 

We  started  to  join  the  Division  on  May  31,  going  that 
day  as  far  as  the  English  hospital  for  Serbs  at  Vertekop, 
via  the  main  road  from  Monastir  to  Salonica.  The  first 
village  passed  through 'was  the  hillside  town  of  Banica; 
thence  up  over  a  pass  by  the  battle-field  of  Gornitchevo, 
where  the  Serbians  and  Bulgars  fought  in  October,  191 6; 
on  to  Ostrovo  (at  the  northern  end  of  the  lake  of  the  same 
name)  and  Vodena.  From  there  on  to  Vertekop  it  was  easy 
rolling,  mostly  downhill. 

On  June  i  we  rolled  to  Topsin,  passing  through  the 
ancient  town  of  Yenidze  Vardar.  At  Topsin  we  went  into 
a  cantonment  near  the  training-camp  of  the  recruits  for 
the  new  army  of  Venizelos.  Our  camp  was  the  most 
inhospitable-appearing  affair,  situated  as  it  was  in  the 
midst  of  a  broad,  barren,  sandy  stretch  of  homeless  land 
which  offered  neither  shelter  from  the  June  sun  nor  any- 
thing else.  Here  the  rumor  got  out  through  the  usual 
medium  that  we  would  remain  several  weeks  and  then 
be  attached  to  the  new  Greek  Army.  But  the  rumor 
proved  baseless  when  Lieutenant  Derode  returned  from 
Salonica  (which  was  only  about  seventeen  miles  away) 
with  orders  to  move  "on  to  Athens"  early  the  next 
morning. 

The  next  day  we  rolled  by  noon  to  a  town  called  Gida, 
and  after  a  long  halt  on  the  hot,  dusty  road  outside  the 
town,  we  headed  for  Katerini.  Arriving  there  in  the  early 

382 


SECTION  THREE 


evening,  after  having  skirted  the  seacoast  for  many  kilo- 
metres, we  drew  up  in  the  yard  of  an  old  monastery. 
Here  we  were  billeted  for  over  a  week,  during  which 
period  and  much  to  the  regret  of  all,  Charley  Fiske^ 
and  R.  B.  Montgomery,  their  time  having  long  since 
expired,  returned  to  France.  Their  places  were  taken  by 
John  d'Este  (who  later  became  Chief  of  Section  after 
the  Section  returned  to  Monastir)  and  James  Keogh. 

There  were  French  troops  in  reserve  at  Katerini,  the 
temporary  front  line  being  out  in  the  direction  of  Elasson, 
which  was  southeasterly  beyond  the  wooded  hills  back 
of  Mount  Olympus. 

Our  stay  here  was  well  taken  up  with  washing  voitures, 
changing  wooden  bodies  for  lighter  canvas  ones,  and 
making  other  preparations  for  a  campaign  around  the 
interior  of  Greece.  Frequent  trips  were  made  to  the  sea 
at  Scala  Katerini,  distant  about  seven  kilometres.  Here 
the  swimming  was  excellent,  and  the  sea-food  dinners 
were  "elegant." 

The  country  between  Katerini  and  Larissa,  which  is 
the  chief  city  of  Thessaly,  was  reputed  to  be  filled  with 
roving  royalist  comitajes  who  were  the  heroes  of  many  a 
rumored  skirmish  with  French  outposts.  So  the  amhu- 
lanciers  were  armed  —  hardly  to  the  teeth  —  with  au- 
tomatic .32  calibre  pistols.  To  be  sure  that  every  one 
got  acquainted  with  this  weapon  of  emergency,  we  had 
target  practice  out  in  the  field  back  of  the  monastery. 
After  twenty-five  of  us  had  fired  one  round  per  person, 
one  hole  (maybe  two)  appeared  on  the  target.  Whatever 
the  number  of  hits,  it  was  assured  that  every  one  knew 
his  weapon  and  an  attack  on  an  ambulance  section 
convoy  (complete,  with  one  White  truck  and  a  trailer- 
kitchen  which  served  as  a  kennel  for  "Salonique,"  the 
cook's  dog)  was  not  to  be  feared  (by  the  comitajes), 

^  Charles  Henry  Fiske,  3d,  of  Boston,  Massachusetts;  Harvard,  '19; 
served  in  Section  Three  of  the  Field  Service  from  August,  1916,  to  June, 
1917;  became  a  Second  Lieutenant  in  the  United  States  Infantry  and  died 
of  wounds  received  in  action  August  24,  19 18. 

383 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


As  a  further  assurance  against  a  surprise  attack,  each 
person  was  given  seven  rounds  of  ammunition,  which 
was  to  be  strictly  accounted  for  and  returned  to  Hill  on 
making  the  next  etape. 

On  or  about  June  12,  191 7,  we  moved  on  to  Larissa, 
passing  up  the  heavily  wooded  slopes  back  of  Mount 
Olympus,  following  the  valley  of  the  Mavroneri  River. 
Near  the  crest  of  the  divide,  the  village  of  Petra  was 
passed,  and  from  there  on  it  was  nice  rolling  down  to  the 
town  of  Elasson. 

After  making  Elasson,  we  caught  up  with  the  main 
body  of  the  Division  which  was  strung  all  along  the  road, 
winding  up  the  Maluna  Pass  —  the  entrance  to  Thessaly. 
We  passed  the  little  Indo-Chinamen  who  were  struggling 
up  the  steep  mountain  with  their  huge  packs  and  little 
peaked  sun  hats;  Senegalese,  spahis,  Chasseurs  d'afrique, 
French  Artillery,  and  lots  of  French  infantry.  The  Eng- 
lish troops  involved  in  the  affair  went  by  sea,  so  we  did 
not  come  in  contact  with  them.  Russia  also  contributed 
troops,  but  they  came  after  things  were  settled. 

Passing  down  the  Thessalian  slope  from  the  Maluna 
Pass,  the  holiday-bedecked  town  of  Tirnavos  was  reached 
during  a  heavy  rain.  Allied  flags  were  flying,  though 
drenched;  and  bunting  of  all  colors  showed  signs  of  not 
being  weather-proof.  Hastily  prepared  pictures  of  Gen- 
eral Sarrail,  President  Wilson,  General  Joffre,  and  othens 
of  note  were  hung  from  wires  stretched  across  the  streets 
and  in  the  windows.  The  pictures  looked  as  though  sev- 
eral days  before  they  had  been  likenesses  of  other  persons 
and  had  been  touched  up  in  a  hurry  to  show  how  loyal 
Thessalians  were  to  the  Allied  cause.  These  same  unique 
bits  of  portraiture  appeared  later  at  Larissa  and  Volo. 

From  Tirnavos  it  was  a  short  run  across  the  wheat- 
fields  which  stretched  for  many  kilometres  each  side  of 
the  road  to  Larissa.  We  reached  this  town  around  five  or 
six  o'clock  in  the  evening.  There  were  crowds  of  citizens 
in  the  streets  and  all  were  looking  in  wonderment  at  the 
composite  make-up  of  the  incoming  troops.  The  spahis 

384 


SECTION  THREE 


had  not  long  since  rounded  up  the  treacherous  evzones 
(Greek  infantry)  who,  after  a  formal  surrender,  offered 
resistance  to  the  advancing  French  troops  and  then  fled 
out  across  the  wheatfields.  The  Spahis  charged  across 
the  country  and  after  a  brief  skirmish  brought  in  a  goodly 
number  of  prisoners,  not,  however,  without  losing  twelve 
killed,  officers  and  men. 

We  occupied  the  recently  evacuated  Greek  barracks, 
and  they  were  all  too  recently  vacated,  which  we  found 
much  to  our  discomfort.  Our  barrack  was  near  the  one  in 
which  the  captured  Greeks  were  imprisoned. 

Every  now  and  then  the  Chinese  guards  would  walk 
out  a  group  of  prisoners,  who,  upon  being  addressed  by 
the  French  commander  through  an  interpreter,  would 
give  three  cheers  for  Venizelos  and  the  Allies,  and  at  the 
same  time  sign  up  in  Venizelos's  Army.  Thereupon  they 
would  be  marched  to  the  station  by  the  ever-vigilant 
Chinamen  and  shipped  to  Salonica  and  I  hope  to  Topsin. 
Thus  we  saw  loyal  royal  Greek  troops  transformed  by  a 
few  well-chosen  remarks  into  loyal  Allied  soldiers. 

After  the  Greek  King  had  acceded  to  the  Allies'  de- 
mands, on  or  about  June  13,  it  became  a  certainty  that 
there  would  be  no  active  campaign  in  Greece,  so  it  was 
a  question  of  time,  as  to  how  long  it  was  necessary  to  keep 
troops  on  the  ground  after  the  abdication.  Several  cars 
rolled  each  day,  carrying  only  a  few  sick  soldiers,  and  it 
is  doubtful  if  we  carried  more  than  fifty  during  the  ex- 
pedition. Before  we  quitted  Larissa,  leaves  were  granted 
to  Volo,  which  had  been  a  base  of  supply  for  German 
submarines,  where  the  most  remarkable  feature  was  the 
abundance  of  outdoor  moving-picture  shows.  These  shows 
were  given  on  the  quai  from  dark  till  dawn.  Some  of  the 
Section  made  excursions  to  the  Vale  of  Tempe  which  is 
not  far  from  Larissa. 

By  the  end  of  June  most  of  the  troops  had  evacuated 
Thessaly  and  we  started  back  to  Macedonia  July  i.  On 
this  return  hike  we  went  over  the  Sarantoporen  Pass  to 
Kozano ;  thence,  after  a  night  on  a  barren  hillside  where 

385 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


the  tinkle  of  goat-bells  assumed  the  sonority  of  fire 
alarms,  we  proceeded  through  Eksisu  and  Sakulevo  to 
our  new  sector  beyond  Brod  (which  is  east  across  the 
valley  from  Monastir).  The  Section  now  became  attached 
to  the  Serbian  Army  and  had  for  cantonment  a  clump 
of  tents  on  the  hill  above  Skocivir  looking  down  the 
valley  across  the  Cerna. 

Charles  Baird,  Jr.^ 


*  Reminiscences  based  on  an  unpublished  diary. 


VII 
The  Bombardment  of  Monastir,  19 17 

Monastir,  August  17,  19 17 
Along  in  the  afternoon  the  intermittent  bombardment 
of  Monastir,  which  had  been  going  on  all  the  morning, 
suddenly  increased  in  volume,  until  at  four  o'clock  the 
noise  of  the  bursting  shells  became  a  continual  rumble, 
and  tongues  of  flame  mingled  with  the  smoke  and  dust 
clouds  which  continuously  shot  up  over  the  house-tops 
of  the  city. 

The  greater  part  of  the  Section  was  grouped  on  a  hill- 
side near  camp,  whence  we  could  watch  the  bombardment. 
Two  of  our  cars  were  on  duty  in  the  city,  but  we  had 
no  news  of  them.  Immediately  after  dinner,  Tracy  and 
I,  having  been  assigned  to  twenty-four  hours'  duty  in 
Monastir,  left  camp.  The  bombardment  seemed  to  in- 
crease in  violence  as  we  approached  the  unfortunate  city, 
and  fire  was  sweeping  the  eastern  quarter.  As  we  drove 
up  the  Grande  Rue,  which  practically  cuts  the  city  in 
half,  we  could  see  that  the  eastern  part  of  the  town  had 
suffered  most. 

In  the  Grande  Rue  the  confusion  was  indescribable. 
Women  with  babies  in  their  arms  and  with  little  chil- 
dren clinging  to  their  skirts,  and  men  carrying  grotesque 
burdens  of  household  possessions  hastily  salvaged,  ran 
hither  and  thither  in  an  agony  of  terror.  Others  cowered 
in  their  doorways,  fearful  of  the  open,  while  several  knelt 
directly  in  our  path,  beseeching  us  to  take  them  to  a 
place  of  safety.  Men  even  jumped  upon  the  steps  of  the 
ambulances  from  which  we  forcibly  dislodged  them. 

Arriving  at  the  hospital  we  found  it  undamaged,  being 
well  to  the  north  of  the  city,  and  nearer  the  Bulgar  and 
Boche  positions.  There  we  relieved  Sinclair  and  Russell, 
who  then  left  for  Fiorina  with  wounded,  and  being  the 
last  to  leave,  were  forced  to  quit  the  town  by  a  circuitous 

387 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


route  through  the  western  section,  as  shells  were  again 
faUing  in  the  Grande  Rue. 

Tracy  and  I  were  at  once  despatched  to  the  offices  of 
the  hospital,  which  were  located  a  little  to  the  east  of  the 
Grande  Rue.  We  found  the  building  intact,  though  sur- 
rounded by  flames.  Tracy  took  the  books  and  records  in 
his  car,  while  I  went  to  the  other  end  of  the  city  to  the 
English  hospital  for  civilian  Serbs,  accompanied  by  an 
old  Serbian  woman,  who  had  had  her  leg  blown  off.  I 
found  the  Grande  Rue  still  passable,  though  some  of  the 
buildings  lining  it  were  in  flames.  Shells  were  now  falling 
to  the  west  of  the  street. 

Having  delivered  my  wounded,  I  returned  to  the 
G.B.D.  Hospital,  where  Tracy  was  preparing  to  make 
another  trip  to  the  offices.  He  left  a  little  later,  brought 
back  the  last  of  the  salvage  from  that  building,  and  re- 
ported that  the  fire  was  gaining  headway  in  the  Grande 
Rue,  which  he  thought  was  impassable  because  of  fallen 
debris.  This  was  not  the  case,  how^ever,  as  Grenville 
Keogh,  who  had  been  sent  for  to  help  handle  the  emer- 
gency calls,  came  through  it  soon  afterward,  though  his 
celluloid  goggles  were  ignited  by  a  burning  fragment  of 
wood,  and  one  of  his  eyebrows  went  with  them  as  they 
fizzled  up  in  smoke. 

As  no  more  calls  came,  we  remained  at  the  hospital, 
and  at  eight  o'clock  the  firing  dropped  to  an  intermit- 
tent cannonade.  This  continued  until  midnight,  when  we 
found  that  east  of  the  Grande  Rue,  the  city  was  prac- 
tically destroyed.  Incendiary  bombs  as  well  as  high-ex- 
plosive had  been  used,  and  fire  and  shell  had  done  their 
work  thoroughly.  The  French  military  authorities  esti- 
mated that  two  thousand  shells  had  fallen  between  four 
and  eight  o'clock  that  evening. 

Charles  Amsden  ^ 


*  Of  Farmington,  New  Mexico;  Harvard,  '19;  served  with  Section  Three 
from  April  to  October,  1917;  subsequently  a  Lieutenant  in  the  U.S.  Air 
Service. 


VIII 

Last  Days  of  Section  Three  in  the  Orient 

On  September  2  it  was  reported  that  the  ItaHans,  oper- 
ating just  across  the  valley  on  our  right,  had  taken 
Hill  1050  and  that  the  Senegalese  were  attacking  on 
the  plain  at  the  foot  of  Rostanni.  About  noon  we  were 
warned  of  a  coming  counter-attack  and  told  to  be  ready 
to  evacuate  from  two  new  postes.  Accordingly,  that  eve- 
ning, the  two  staff  cars,  each  with  four  ambulance  driv- 
ers, made  a  tour  of  the  postes,  so  that  at  least  some  of  the 
boys  might  be  familiar  with  all  the  roads. 

At  seven  the  following  evening  the  repair  car  and  ten 
ambulances  started  for  the  G.B.D.  in  Monastir,  Lieu- 
tenant Derode  and  I  immediately  following  with  the  staff 
car.  On  arriving,  we  designated  four  men  for  the  Ravine 
d'ltalienne,  a  poste  of  the  76th  Division;  four  for  the 
Roumanian  poste  of  the  30th  Division,  and  leaving  two 
at  the  G.B.D.  to  see  to  the  unloading  of  the  cars  there, 
and  the  evacuation  back  to  Holeven  and  Fiorina  if  neces- 
sary. 

At  eight  o'clock  it  was  sufHciently  dark  to  start,  and 
the  cars  left  for  the  postes.  At  the  Ravine  d'ltalienne,  we 
parked  the  cars  in  the  lee  of  a  stone  bridge  and  were 
joined  by  three  hrancardiers. 

Brush  fires,  started  by  exploding  shells,  blazed  on  the 
mountains  on  either  side,  and  farther  up  the  valley  the 
fields  were  afire  just  behind  the  Bulgar  front  lines.  All 
the  French  artillery,  from  the  little  mountain  batteries 
up  in  the  hills  to  the  big  *'2io's"  in  the  outskirts  of  Mon- 
astir were  pounding  away,  and  the  Bulgars  were  reply- 
ing, though  to  a  less  extent,  and  apparently  directing  their 
fire  down  into  the  town.  The  heavens  seemed  a  writhing, 
shrieking  waste  of  sound,  but  all  of  a  sudden,  about  nine 
o'clock,  the  firing  ceased,  emphasizing  the  deep  stillness 
of  the  night,  broken  only  by  occasional  rifle-fire  and  the 

389 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


sharp  rat-ta-tat-tat  of  the  mitrailleuses  out  ahead.  Then 
the  moon  came  up  over  the  mountains,  bathing  every- 
thing in  a  soft  white  Hght,  and  for  the  moment  making 
us  and  our  cars  seem  frightfully  conspicuous. 

In  a  few  moments  Lieutenant  Derode  appeared  for  a 
final  inspection  and  to  warn  the  boys  under  no  circum- 
stances to  bring  in  cadavres.  About  quarter  of  ten  the 
cars  began  to  roll  steadily,  and  as  they  returned,  after 
evacuating  their  loads  at  the  G.B.D.,  were  directed,  ac- 
cording to  the  last  reports  of  the  number  of  blesses,  to 
one  poste  or  another.  Along  toward  2.30  a.m.  things  com- 
menced to  slacken,  and  all  cars  but  three,  one  at  each 
poste,  and  one  at  the  road  junction,  ready  to  move  up, 
were  sent  in.  All  three  came  in  before  daybreak.  At 
the  G.B.D.  the  Medecin  Divisionnaire  instructed  us  that 
the  hospital  must  be  evacuated  before  evening,  so  we 
telephoned  to  the  cantonnement  at  Bistrica  and  got  all 
remaining  cars  rolling.  By  noon  our  work  was  pretty  well 
cleaned  up. 

This  was  the  last  real  activity  of  Section  Three.  From 
then  on  we  kept  our  usual  programme;  two  cars  at  the 
G.B.D.  in  Monastir  to  answer  calls  from  the  postes,  and 
each  morning  the  required  number  of  cars  to  evacuate 
back  to  Holeven,  Velusini,  or  Fiorina  and  occasional 
calls  from  a  radius  of  thirty  kilometres.  On  September  6 
and  28  we  received  two  new  batches  of  men  as  replace- 
ments, a  number  of  the  old  members  returning  to  France. 
We  kept  busy  building  mud  and  stone  houses  for  winter 
quarters,  improving  our  road  out  as  far  as  the  main  road, 
and  giving  all  the  ambulances  a  thorough  overhauling. 
On  October  8  we  got  news  from  the  Pare  d 'Autos  at 
Salonica  that  we  were  to  be  recalled,  and  on  the  9th 
came  fifteen  French  drivers,  whom  we  were  to  break  in 
on  our  Fords  and  work.  As  soon  as  they  took  over  the 
service  we  prepared  to  leave. 

At  noon  on  the  i6th.  Lieutenant  Derode  called  the 
whole  Section  together,  and  in  a  few  words  of  heartfelt 
thanks,  and  regret  at  parting,  bade  us  good-bye;  and 

390 


SECTION  THREE 


infirmier  went  round  and  spoke  to  him.  He  was  breathing 
faintly,  but  unable  to  reply.  A  man  at  the  roadside  came 
and  peered  inside,  too.  "//  est  mort/'  he  said,  whereupon 
the  infirmier  almost  struck  the  intruder.  A  little  way 
farther  on,  still  going  as  gently  as  possible,  we  again 
stopped  to  look  at  the  patient  and  found  he  was  dead. 
We  noted  the  hour  and  w^ent  on,  though  no  faster  than 
before,  for  we  might  have  been  mistaken.  It  took  us  longer 
to  return  than  to  climb  up.  When  we  reached  the  hospital 
and  took  the  body  in,  it  seemed  to  me  once  that  he  moved. 
But  no;  my  eyes  were  strained  and  he  was  really  dead. 
Then  I  went  over  to  the  Restaurant  zur  Paste,  where  pretty 
Fraulein  Anna  served  me  the  quickest  meal  I  have  had 
in  Alsace.  Bed  about  midnight. 

Flivver  vs.  Motor  Truck 

Thursday,  October  28 
Moore  appeared  in  the  evening  much  excited.  He  had 
knocked  a  camion  from  Hill  408  into  the  river  at  Urbes! 
He  had  followed  it  some  way,  trying  to  pass,  but  it  would 
not  move  over.  At  that,  he  attempted  to  squeeze  past. 
The  hub  of  his  front  wheel  wedged  in  under  the  hub  of 
the  truck's  wheel,  and  upset  its  steering  so  that  its  mo- 
mentum carried  it  off  the  road.  Moore  felt  no  shock,  and 
except  for  a  dent  in  the  hub-cap,  old  58  is  undamaged. 
But  the  camion,  with  three  cannon-barrels  on  board,  is 
in  the  river! 

Monday,  November  i 
There  is  a  new  medecin  auxiliaire  here  —  a  tall,  quiet 
medical  student.  He  had  just  returned  from  being  a  pris- 
oner in  Germany,  having  been  captured  thirteen  months 
ago.  The  German  military  authorities  found  a  revolver 
on  him  and  were  about  to  shoot  him  on  this  account, 
when  an  officer  intervened,  saying  that  their  doctors  also 
carried  revolvers.  They  should  have  returned  him  at 
once;  but,  instead,  they  kept  him  and  almost  starved 
him.  He  lived  mostly  on  food  sent  him  from  home.  He 

295 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


was  owed  a  salary,  but  it  was  not  given  him  until  he  left, 
as  his  captors  were  afraid  he  would  buy  food  with  it. 

Tuesday,  November  2 
One  of  the  evacues  from  the  hospital  at  La  Source  was 
the  German  I  took  there  during  the  attack.  The  hran- 
cardiers  were  not  very  careful  of  him  then.  They  jerked 
him  out  and  slammed  him  down  muttering,  ^' salaiid,'^ 
and  *'cochon."  But  during  the  two  weeks  he  was  there, 
they  had  come  to  know  him  better,  and  he,  instead  of 
being  afraid  he  was  to  be  shot,  as  he  had  been  at  first, 
was  now  laughing  and  joking  in  broken  French  with  his 
infirmiers.  As  he  left,  they  all  shook  him  by  the  hand  and 
one  called  after  him  '^  Bonne  chance,  camarade!'' 

Late  Autumn  in  the  Vosges 

Wednesday,  November  lo 
It  both  rained  and  snowed !  A  white  day  —  misty  and 
snowy.  The  sleety  snow  in  the  mountains  was  heavy  rain 
in  the  valley. 

The  Section  moved  to-day  from  Saint-Maurice  to 
Mollau  near  Wesserling,  a  tiny  little  village  smaller  than 
Saint-Maurice  and  built  along  a  brook  on  the  side  of 
the  mountains.  I  had  not  known  that  there  was  a  town 
there,  it  is  so  shut  in  by  hills.  A  very  pretty  spot;  the 
slopes  partly  smooth  and  grassy,  partly  rocky,  partly 
woods.  We  all  sleep  together  —  except  the  officers  and 
Curley  —  in  the  schoolroom  on  stretchers  placed  on  top 
of  plank  beds.  There  is  a  splendid  tall  porcelain  stove  in 
the  room ;  but  the  only  wood  that  is  provided  for  us  is  to 
be  found  in  a  tract  of  forest  on  the  Ballon  d'Alsace,  which 
we  cannot  possibly  get  at.  However,  we  procured  some. 
In  the  middle  of  the  room  is  a  table  and  a  good  enough 
light  in  the  ceiling.  The  two  disadvantages  are  that  the 
place  is  noisy  until  eleven  o'clock  at  night  so  that  it  is 
difficult  to  write  or  sleep,  and  that  we  have  not  even 
hooks  to  hang  our  things  on.  We  eat  army  rations,  cooked 
at  the  hotel.  For  the  moment  the  cooking  is  superb;  but 

296 


SECTION  THREE 


we  are  soon  to  get  an  army  cook,  who  will  probably 
change  all  that.  The  chefs  landlady  is  from  Atlanta, 
Georgia,  and  her  children  speak  some  English.  We  get 
cream  instead  of  hot  milk  for  our  coffee  in  the  morning, 
and  we  are  soon  to  have  butter.  The  inhabitants  here  are 
less  German  than  most  of  the  Alsatians  and  speak  French 
as  well  as  patois. 

Tuesday,  November  i6 
Fair  and  cold.  A  call  to  Kriith  —  fifty  frozen  feet  from 
Adsinfirst  —  came  in  the  middle  of  the  morning.  Did  vari- 
ous odd  jobs  in  the  afternoon,  brushed  out  car,  made  a  hood 
of  green  burlap,  chopped  wood,  and  wrote  a  little;  went 
out  walking  with  Fenton  and  otherwise  amused  myself. 
In  the  evening  a  contagious  call  came  in.  I  took  it  and  in 
the  moonlight,  carried  the  man  from  Kruth  to  Le  Thillot. 

Wednesday,  November  17 
A  DARK  morning.  There  was  a  Bussang  evacuation.  Hill 
sent  me  over.  Col  de  Bussang  very  slippery.  Wagons 
and  camions  en  panne  all  the  way  along.  Evacuated  for 
about  an  hour.  Fenton  tried  to  avoid  a  woman,  skidded, 
and  smashed  a  rear  wheel.  Returning  found  even  more 
camions  en  panne  on  the  Col.  Our  cars  were  skidding 
badly  also.  Luckily  I  had  a  pair  of  chains  and  got  along 
fairly  well.  There  was  a  convoy  of  iouvfourgons,  however, 
which  was  having  a  hard  time  of  it.  One  had  gone  over 
the  edge,  spilling  its  load  of  shells  all  over  the  road.  An- 
other had  gone  into  the  ditch.  Still  another  was  stuck 
crosswise  on  a  steep  part  of  the  highway  so  that  I  could 
not  pass.  In  one  place,  I  was  kept  waiting  an  hour  before 
the  vehicles  moved  up.  Next  we  met  a  convey  of  wagons 
climbing  the  hill,  or  rather  failing  to  climb  it,  and  again 
had  to  stop.  Farther  on  a  team  of  six  horses  ran  away  on 
an  icy  slope  and  rushed  into  my  car,  but,  luckily  did  no 
damage  to  anybody.  So,  altogether,  it  was  night  when 
I  reached  Herrenfluh;  and  I  had  to  return  by  moonlight 
—  not  at  all  difficult  and  most  beautiful.  On  returning 

297 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


to  Tomansplatz,  I  had  to  take  another  trip  —  a  man 
there  had  had  a  grenade  explode  in  his  hand.  A  cold  night. 

Saturday,  Xovcmber  20 

Yesterday,  on  the  eve  of  the  Hars'ard-Yale  football 
game,  we  sent  the  following  cable  to  Percy  Haughton, 
coach  of  the  Har\'ard  football  team: 

A  la  vellle  de  votre  combat,  salut!  Serrez  vos 
cclntures,  fixez  vos  baionnettes,  chargcz  vos 
fusils,  grenades  a  main,  et  en  avant  les  gars! 
On  vous  regards  meme  des  sommets  des  \'osges. 

Le  Harvard  Club  d' Alsace  Reconquise 

Monday,  Xovember  22 
The   Har\-ard-Yale   score   was   announced,    41-0.    The 
Harvard  Club  of  Alsace  Reconquise  celebrated  suitably, 
for  Doyle,  our  only  Yale  man,  was  away. 

Thursday,  Xovember  25 
Light  snow.  Carey  and  \\'aldo  Peirce  are  making  a  pack 
of  caricature  playing-cards.  I  sat  for  the  queen  of  hearts. 
Our  Thanksgiving  dinner  was  a  great  event.  Our  new 
French  officer  was  our  guest.  We  had  a  delicious  turkey, 
two  geese,  cranberries,  chestnuts,  apple  pie,  plum  pud- 
ding —  a  wonderful  gorge.  Late  to  bed. 

Saturday,  Xovember  27 
Fair.  \'ery  cold.  This  morning  it  took  me  three  quarters 
of  an  hour  to  start  the  car.  Had  to  lay  a  red-hot  poker  on 
the  carburetor. 

Stindny,  Xoveynber  28 
Cold.  Every  one  had  frightful  struggles  getting  off.  Hot 
water  on  the  carburetors  would  freeze  before  the  motor 
would  catch.  Was  orderly.  After  clearing  up  the  barracks, 
I  took  a  call  to  Thillot  with  Fenton.  We  stopped  at  Saint- 
Maurice  to  pay  our  respects  to  all  the  pretty  girls.  Bought 
a  goose.  Arrived  at  Mollau  about  dark. 

298 


SECTION  THREE 


Monday,  December  6 
The  Captain  of  the  English  Section  which  is  to  replace 
us  rolled  up  from  Rupt  yesterday  in  an  enormous  car. 
Rice  took  him  up  to  Tomans.  He  was  m.uch  disgusted 
with  the  road  and  thinks  it  will  be  impossible  to  continue 
the  service  there.  He  was  also  horrified,  and  not  without 
reason,  at  our  quarters. 

Friday,  December  lo 
The  road,  wherever  it  is  not  a  morass,  is  ridged  and  gul- 
lied by  the  rains  and  the  fields  near  Urbes  are  flooded. 
Both  the  Moselle  and  the  Thur  are  out  of  their  banks. 
Hall  declares  he  saw  some  ''  504'*  shells;  probably  wine- 
barrels  ! 

Tuesday,  December  15 
An  English  ''chauffeur"  (to  be  distinguished  from  "vol- 
unteer") brought  over  his  Ford  for  Fenton  to  repair  to- 
day, and  spent  the  night.  Matter  committed  a  social  sole- 
cism at  Kriith  by  inviting  both  volunteer  and  chauffeur 
to  lunch  together  with  him. 

Friday,  December  17 
The  boys  have  sometimes  complained,  not  without  rea- 
son, of  the  hardships  and  fatigues  of  the  work.  But  now 
that  there  is  no  w^ork,  they  complain  still  more,  and  I  not 
least  of  them.  They  are  peevish;  I  also.  They  will  not  go 
to  bed  at  night  or  get  up  in  the  morning.  They  are  rest- 
less, and  yet  the  smallest  tasks  are  done  unwillingly.  I  am 
tempted  to  write  as  a  general  proposition  that  men  are 
happiest  when  working  hardest.  But  it  must  not  be  for- 
gotten that  I  am  writing  in  a  time  of  idleness. 

The  Attack  on  Hartmannsweilerkopf 

Tuesday,  Decem.ber  21 
The  attack  is  on!  Terrific  bombardment.  An  atm.osphere 
of  ill-suppressed  excitement.  No  work  in  the  morning  or 
early  afternoon,  as  the  attack  did  not  begin  until  noon. 
Walked  up  to  the  boyau  leading  to  the  trenches  on  the 

299 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Sudelkop  and  cautiously  peered  over  the  ridge  at  Hart- 
manns.  A  terrible  sight.  There  was  a  band  of  trees, 
stripped  bare  by  shell-fire,  from  the  valley  to  the  crest. 
A  company  of  soldiers  passed  up,  going  to  the  trenches. 
At  the  entrance  to  the  hoyau,  they  stopped  to  load  and 
then  went  on,  stopping  behind  the  parapet.  It  did  not 
seem  possible  that  any  of  them  could  go  down  to  that 
shell-clotted  hillside  and  return  alive.  I  wonder  if  any  of 
them  did? 

We  crawled  down  the  ridge  again,  mostly  on  our  bellies, 
through  the  light,  wet  snow,  and  so  back  to  the  poste, 
where  we  at  last  found  a  cabin  which  at  least  kept  the 
wind  off,  and  I  went  to  sleep,  waking  up  hungry  and  cold. 
In  the  meanwhile,  the  others  had  found  a  travelling 
kitchen  and  we  got  something  to  eat.  Just  before  dusk, 
the  prisoners  and  wounded  began  to  come  in.  The  road 
from  Tomans  down  is  icy  and  slippery;  Mellen  was  unable 
to  descend  with  only  one  chain,  wagons  everyw^here  in 
trouble.  I  reached  Moosch  in  safety,  however.  Luckily 
there  is  a  moon.  Mounting  to  Tomans  again,  took  two 
trips  down,  and  stayed  for  an  hour's  sleep.  Gailliard,  the 
cook,  is  established,  with  food  and  the  means  of  cooking 
it,  in  a  little  house  opposite  the  hospital.  There  is  also 
room  for  about  six  to  sleep  comfortably,  and  there  I  slept 
with  the  others. 

Wednesday,  December  22 
Blesses  coming  in  rather  slow^ly,  but  still  fast  enough  to 
keep  us  busy.  Last  night  Hill  and  the  Divisionnaire  were 
down  near  Bains- Douches  when  they  came  across  a  body 
of  Germans,  unarmed  but  unguarded.  So  they  had  to  act 
guard;  marshalled  them  and  marched  them  to  the  fort, 
Hill  giving  the  commands  in  German.  On  one  of  my  trips 
to  Moosch,  was  able  to  pick  up  a  peau  de  moiiton  and  some 
Boche  boots.  The  latter  were  much  needed,  for  both  my 
pairs  are  soaked  through.  The  hospital  is  getting  more 
and  more  crowded.  The  corridors  are  so  full  of  stretchers 
that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  move  along  them. 

300 


SECTION  THREE 


There  is  room  in  the  salle  de  triage  for  six  stretcher 
cases,  and  there  is  a  rule  against  removing  any  of  them 
into  the  wards  until  all  have  been  entered  on  the  books. 
So  to-day  six  cars  waited  two  hours  to  be  unloaded,  the 
poor  wretches  inside  crying  to  be  taken  out.  Slept  three 
hours  at  Tomans. 

Thursday,  December  23 
Bombardments  by  the  Germans.  After  a  slight  lull  in  the 
morning,  work  began  again.  Rolled  pretty  steadily.  But 
the  shortage  of  men  in  the  Section  is  serious.  Three  are 
laid  up  with  illnesses,  and  the  strain  is  telling  a  little  on 
all  of  us.  Only  Curley  is  a  man  of  iron.  But  he  is  so  un- 
comfortable at  Moosch  that  he  rolls  up  to  Tomans,  and 
is  so  disgusted  with  Tomans  that  he  at  once  rolls  down 
again  to  Moosch.  The  cars,  too,  are  giving  way.  The 
Bitschweiler  road  is  wearing  out  brake-bands  faster  than 
they  can  be  put  on.  Several  axle-shafts  have  broken, 
among  others  that  on  the  supply  car  which  is  now  repos- 
ing among 'the  corpses  in  the  garage  at  Tomans. 

Friday,  December  24 
Heavy  showers.  Mist.  Fitful  bombardment,  evidently 
much  hampered  by  the  fog.  Made  one  trip  in  the  morning 
and  one  in  the  early  afternoon.  Returning  from  the  lat- 
ter was  impressed  into  service  by  Dick  Hall,^  who  rolled 
back  to  Moosch  while  I  rolled  up  the  mountain.  Poor 
Dick!  Poor  charming,  whimsical  Dick!  I  never  saw  him 
again.  Had  a  trip  down  in  time  for  supper  at  Moosch.  On 
my  way  up,  found  Gate  in  trouble  with  a  tire  —  his  sixth 
since  the  beginning  of  the  attack  —  and  stopped  to  help 
him.  When  we  were  finished,  we  went  on,  but  found 
Douglass,  Peirce,  and  Jennings  all  waiting  at  the  watering- 
trough  for  some  trucks  to  reach  the  top  of  the  hill,  as  it 
was  impossible  to  pass  by  them.  Finally  we  started  off 

'  Richard  Nelville  Hall,  of  Ann  Arbor,  Michigan;  Dartmouth,  '15;  joined 
Section  Three  of  the  Field  Service  in  May  of  1915;  killed  by  a  shell  on 
Christmas  Eve,  19 15. 

301 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


again,  a  munitions  convoy  stopping  to  heave  Peirce's  old 
'bus  up  every  little  grade.  A  cart  stuck  in  the  middle  of 
the  steep  corner  complicated  matters.  But  we  finally 
reached  Tomans. 

Thursday,  December  30 
The  French  attack  has  been  more  or  less  a  failure. 
General  Serret  was  wounded  the  night  before  last.  About 
one  in  the  morning  Curley  went  down  to  Bains-Douches 
to  get  him.  It  was  a  very  dark  night,  and  he  was,  of  course, 
unable  to  use  any  lights.  The  "Wilier"  road  was  kept 
clear  of  traffic  and  the  general  was  rushed  down  to 
Moosch. 

They  have  found  it  necessary  to  amputate  the  General's 
leg.^ 

Tracy  J.  Putnam 


^  General  Serret  died  on  January  6,  191 6. 


ti»* 


»yi 


in 

Christmas  Eve,  1915 

In  one  of  the  most  beautiful  countries  in  the  world,  the 
Alsatian  Valley  of  the  Thur  runs  to  where  the  Vosges 
abruptly  end  in  the  great  fiat  plain  of  the  Rhine.  In  turn 
a  small  valley  descends  into  that  of  the  Thur.  At  the  head 
of  this  valley  lies  the  small  village  of  Mollau  where  was 
billeted  the  Section.  At  the  end  of  19 15  it  had  been 
through  months  of  laborious,  patient,  never-ceasing  trips 
from  the  valley  to  the  mountain-tops  and  back,  up  the 
broadened  mule-paths,  rutted  and  worn  by  a  thousand 
wheels  and  the  hoofs  of  mules,  horses,  and  oxen,  by  hob- 
nailed boots  and  by  the  American  ambulance  cars  (for 
no  other  Section  is  equipped  with  cars  and  men  for 
such  service),  up  from  the  small  Alsatian  towns,  leaving 
the  main  valley  road  to  grind  through  a  few  fields  of  ever- 
increasing  grade  on  into  the  forest,  sometimes  pushed, 
sometimes  pulled,  always  blocked  on  the  steepest  slopes 
by  huge  army  wagons  deserted  where  they  stuck,  rasping 
cartloads  of  trench  torpedoes  on  one  side,  crumbling  the 
edge  of  the  ravine  on  the  other  —  day  and  night  —  night 
and  day  —  in  snow  and  rain  —  and,  far  worse,  fog  — 
months  of  foul  and  days  of  fair  —  up  with  the  intermin- 
able caravans  of  ravitaillement  supplies  with  which  to 
sustain  or  blast  the  human  body  (we  go  down  with  the 
human  body  once  blasted),  up  past  small  armies  of  Alsa- 
tian peasants  of  three  generations  (rather  two  —  octo- 
genarians and  children)  forever  repairing,  forever  fight- 
ing the  wear  and  tear  of  all  that  passes,  —  up  at  last  to 
the  little  log  huts  and  rudely  made  pastes  de  secours  at  the 
mouth  of  the  trench  "bowels"  —  a  silent  little  world  of 
tethered  mules,  shrouded  carts,  and  hooded  figures;  light- 
less  by  night,  under  the  great  pines  where  is  a  crude  ga- 
rage usually  filled  with  grenades  into  which  one  may  back 
at  one's  own  discretion. 

303 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Day  after  day,  night  after  night,  wounded  or  no 
wounded,  the  Httle  ambulances  ply  with  their  solitary 
drivers.  Few  men  in  ordinary  autos  or  in  ordinary  senses 
travel  such  roads  by  choice,  but  all  that  is  impossible  is 
explained  by  a  simple  ''Cest  la  guerre.''  Why  else  blindly 
force  and  scrape  one's  way  past  a  creaking  truck  of  shells 
testing  twenty  horses,  two  abreast,  steaming  in  their 
own  cloud  of  sweaty  vapor,  thick  as  a  Fundy  fog?  Tak- 
ing perforce  the  outside,  the  ravine  side,  the  ambulance 
passes.  More  horses  and  wagons  ahead  in  the  dark,  an- 
other blinding  moment  or  two,  harnesses  clash  and  rat- 
tle, side  bolts  and  lanterns  are  wiped  from  the  car.  It 
passes  again.  Cest  la  guerre.  Why  else  descend  endless 
slopes  with  every  brake  afire,  with  three  or  four  human 
bodies,  as  they  should  not  be,  for  cargo,  where  a  broken 
drive-shaft  leaves  but  one  instantaneous  twist  of  the 
wheel  for  salvation,  a  thrust  straight  into  the  bank, 
smashing  the  car,  but  saving  its  precious  load?  Cest  la 
guerre. 

The  men  in  time  grow  tired  as  do  the  machines.  A  week 
before  Christmas  they  rested  quietly  in  their  villages  — 
a  week  of  sun  and  splendid  moon,  spent  tuning  up  their 
motors  and  gears  and  jogging  about  afoot  after  all  their 
"rolling."  A  lull  in  the  fighting,  and,  after  three  weeks  of 
solid  rain,  nature  smiles.  The  Section  had  been  ordered 
to  leave  shortly,  and  it  was  only  held  for  a  long-expected 
attack  which  would  bring  them  all  together  for  once  on 
the  mountain  in  a  last  great  effort  with  the  Chasseurs 
alpins  and  the  mountains  they  both  loved. 

On  December  21  the  mountains  spoke,  and  all  the  cars 
rolled  upwards  to  the  poste  of  Hartmannsweilerkopf  — 
taken  and  retaken  a  score  of  times  —  a  bare,  brown, 
blunt,  shell-ploughed  top  where  before  the  forest  stood  — 
up  elbowing,  buffeting,  and  tacking  their  way  through 
battalions  of  men  and  beasts,  up  by  one  pass  and  down 
by  another  unmountable  (for  there  was  no  going  back 
against  the  tide  of  what  was  battle-bound).  From  one 
mountain-slope  to  another  roared  all  the  lungs  of  war. 

304 


SECTION  THREE 


For  five  days  and  five  nights  —  scraps  of  days,  the  short- 
est of  the  year,  nights  interminable  —  the  air  was 
shredded  with  shrieking  shells  —  intermittent  lulls  for 
slaughter  in  attack  after  the  bombardment,  then  again 
the  roar  of  the  counter-attack. 

All  this  time,  as  in  all  the  past  months,  Richard 
Nelville  Hall  drove  his  car  up  the  winding,  shell-swept 
artery  of  the  mountain  at  war  —  past  crazed  mules, 
broken-down  artillery  carts,  swearing  drivers,  stricken 
horses,  wounded  stragglers  still  able  to  hobble  —  past 
long  convoys  of  Boche  prisoners,  silent,  descending  in 
twos,  guarded  by  a  handful  of  men  —  past  all  the  per- 
sonnel of  war,  great  and  small  (for  there  is  but  one  road, 
one  road  on  which  to  travel,  one  road  for  the  enemy 
to  shell),  past  ahris,  bomb-proofs,  subterranean  huts,  to 
arrive  at  the  poste  de  secours,  where  silent  men  moved 
mysteriously  in  the  mist  under  the  great  trees,  where  the 
cars  were  loaded  with  an  ever-ready  supply  of  still  more 
quiet  figures  (though  some  made  sounds),  mere  bundles 
in  blankets.  Hall  saw  to  it  that  those  quiet  bundles  were 
carefully  and  rapidly  installed  —  right  side  up,  for  in- 
stance —  for  it  is  dark  and  the  brancardiers  axe  dulled, 
deadened  by  the  dead  they  carry;  then  rolled  down  into 
the  valley  below,  where  little  towns  bear  stolidly  their 
daily  burden  of  shells  wantonly  thrown  from  somewhere 
in  Bocheland  over  the  mountain  to  anywhere  in  France 

—  the  bleeding  bodies  in  the  car  a  mere  corpuscle  in 
the  full  crimson  stream,  the  ever-rolling  tide  from  the 
trenches  to  the  hospitals  of  the  blood  of  life  and  the 
blood  of  death.  Once  there,  his  wounded  unloaded,  Dick 
Hall  filled  his  gasoline  tank  and  rolled  again  on  his  way. 
Two  of  his  comrades  had  been  wounded  the  day  before, 
but  Dick  Hall  never  faltered.  He  slept  where  and  when 
he  could,  in  his  car,  at  the  poste,  on  the  floor  of  our  tempo- 
rary kitchen  at  Moosch  —  dry  blankets  —  wet  blankets 

—  blankets  of  mud  —  blankets  of  blood ;  contagion  was 
pedantry  —  microbes  a  myth. 

305 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


At  midnight  Christmas  Eve,  191 5,  he  left  the  valley 
to  get  his  load  of  wounded  for  the  last  time.  Alone,  ahead 
of  him  two  hours  of  lonely  driving  up  the  mountain.  Per- 
haps he  was  thinking  of  other  Christmas  Eves,  perhaps 
of  his  distant  home,  and  of  those  who  were  thinking  of 
him.  .  .  .  The  next  American  to  pass,  found  him  by  the 
roadside  halfway  up  the  mountain.  His  face  was  calm  and 
his  hands  still  in  position  to  grasp  the  wheel.  A  shell  had 
struck  his  car  and  killed  him  instantly,  painlessly.  A 
chance  shell  in  a  thousand  had  struck  him  at  his  post,  in 
the  morning  of  his  youth. 

Up  on  the  mountain  fog  was  hanging  over  Hartmanns 
Christmas  morning,  as  if  Heaven  wished  certain  things 
obscured.  The  trees  were  sodden  with  dripping  rain. 
Weather,  sight,  sound,  and  smell  did  their  all  to  sicken 
mankind,  when  news  was  brought  to  us  that  Dick  Hall 
had  fallen  on  the  Field  of  Honor.  No  man  said,  ''Merry 
Christmas,"  that  day.  No  man  could  have  mouthed  it. 
With  the  fog  forever  closing  in,  with  the  mountain  shaken 
by  a  double  bombardment  as  never  before,  we  sat  all  day 
in  the  little  log  hut  by  the  stove,  thinking  first  of  Dick 
Hall,  then  of  Louis  Hall,  his  brother,  down  in  the  valley. 

Dick  Hall,  we  who  knew  you,  worked  with  you,  played 
with  you,  ate  with  you,  slept  with  you,  we  who  took 
pleasure  in  your  company,  in  your  modesty,  in  your 
gentle  manners,  in  your  devotion  and  in  your  youth  — 
we  still  pass  that  spot,  and  we  salute.  Our  breath  comes 
quicker,  our  eyes  grow  dimmer,  we  grip  the  wheel  a  little 
tighter  —  we  pass  —  better  and  stronger  men. 

Waldo  Peirce  ^ 


^  The  artist;  of  Bangor,  Maine;  Harvard  '07.  In  France  when  the  war 
broke  out;  joined  Section  Three,  in  which  he  served  until  this  Section  was 
transferred  to  the  Balkans.  A  number  of  the  paintings  and  sketches  repro- 
duced in  these  volunres  are  the  work  of  Mr.  Peirce. 

306 


SECTION  THREE 


Editor's  Note:  Richard  Hall  was  buried  with  honors  of  war 
in  the  valley  of  Saint-Amarin,  in  Alsace,  which  once  more  be- 
longs to  France.  His  grave,  in  a  crowded  military  cemetery, 
is  next  that  of  a  French  officer  who  fell  the  same  morning.  It 
bears  the  brief  inscription,  ''Richard  Hall,  an  American  who 
died  for  France."  Simple  mountain  people,  in  the  then  only  part 
of  Germany  where  foreign  soldiers  were,  brought  to  the  grave 
many  wreaths  of  native  flowers  and  Christmas  greens.  The  fu- 
neral service  was  held  in  a  little  Protestant  chapel,  five  miles 
down  the  valley.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  service.  Hall's  cita- 
tion was  read  and  the  Cross  of  War  pinned  on  the  coffin.  On 
the  way  to  the  cemetery  sixteen  soldiers,  belonging  to  a  bat- 
talion on  leave  from  the  trenches,  marched  in  file  on  each 
side  with  arms  reversed.  The  Medecin  Chef  spoke  as  follows 
at  the  grave: 

Messieurs  —  Camarades  — 

Cest  un  supreme  hommage  de  reconnaissance  et  d'affection 
que  nous  rendons,  devant  cette  fosse  fratchement  creusee,  a  ce 
jeune  homme — je  dirais  volontiers  —  cet  enfant  —  tombe  hier 
pour  la  France  sur  les  pentes  de  V Hartmannsweilerkopf ,  .  .  . 
Ai-je  besoin  de  vous  rappeler  la  douloureuse  emotion  que  nous 
avons  tous  ressentis  en  apprenant  hier  matin  que  le  conducteur 
Richard  Hall,  de  la  Section  Sanitaire  Americaine  N^  j,  venait 
d'etre  mortellement  frappe  par  un  eclat  d'obus,  pres  du  poste  de 
secqurs  de  Thomannsplatz  oil  il  montait  chercher  des  blesses? 

A  V Ambulance  3/58,  oil  nous  eprouvons  pour  nos  camarades 
americains  une  sincere  amitie  basee  sur  des  mois  de  vie  commune 
pendant  laquelle  il  nous  fut  permis  d'apprecier  leur  endurance, 
leur  courage,  et  leur  devouement,  le  conducteur  Richard  Hall 
etait  estime  entre  tous  pour  sa  modestie,  sa  douceur,  sa  complai- 
sance. 

A  peine  sorti  de  Vuniversite  de  Dartmouth,  dans  la  genero- 
site  de  son  cceur  d' adolescent,  il  apporta  a  la  France  le  precieux 
concours  de  sa  charite  en  venant  relever,  sur  les  champs  de  bataille 
d' Alsace,  ceux  de  nos  vaillants  soldats  blesses  en  combattant  pour 
la  patrie  bien-aimee. 

II  est  mort  en  ^^  Chevalier  de  la  Bienfaisance''  —  en  '^Ameri- 
cain''  —  pour  V accomplissement  d'une  ceuvre  de  bonte  et  de  charite 
chretienne. 

Aux  etres  chers  qii'il  a  laisses  dans  sa  patrie,  an  Michigan, 
d  ses  parents  desoles,  d  son  frere  aine,  qui,  au  milieu  de  nous, 
montre  une  si  stoique  douleur,  nos  hommages  et  V expression  de 
710 tre  tristesse  sont  bien  sinceres  et  bien  vifsl 

Conducteur  Richard  Hall,  vous  allez  reposer  ici  d  Vombre  du 
drapeau  tricolore,  aupres  de  tous  ces  vaillants  do7it  vous  etes 

307 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Vemule.  .  .  .  Voiis  faites  a  juste  litre  partie  de  leiir  hataillon 
sacre!  .  .  .  Seul,  votre  corps^  glorieusement  mutile,  disparait  — 
votre  ante  est  remonte  trouver  Dieu  —  votre  souvenir,  lui,  reste 
dans  nos  ccetirs,  imperissahlet  .  .  .  Les  Frangais  n'oublient  pas! 
Conducteur  Richard  Hall  —  Adieu  ! 


IV 
From  Two  Diaries 

Mittlach,  December  i,  19 15 
The  other  night,  just  as  I  was  going  to  crawl  in,  three 
blesses  arrived  from  the  trenches,  and  another  was  down 
the  road  in  a  farmhouse  waiting  for  the  Medecin  Chef;  he 
was  too  badly  wounded  to  go  farther.  They  asked  me  to 
take  the  men  to  the  hospital  at  Kriith,  which  is  back  over 
the  mountains  twenty  miles.  I  dressed  again  —  I  hated 
to  because  it  was  warm  in  the  little  log  shack  and  it  had 
begun  to  rain  outside.  I  lit  my  lantern,  and  went  out 
to  the  shelter  where  the  cars  were,  got  my  tank  filled 
with  gas,  and  my  lights  ready  to  burn  when  I  could  use 
them.  It  was  so  black  one  could  see  nothing.  We  put  two 
of  the  blesses  on  stretchers  and  pushed  them  slowly  into 
the  back  of  the  car;  the  other  sat  in  front  with  me.  This 
we  did  under  the  protection  of  the  hill  where  the  poste  de 
secours  is  located.  When  one  goes  fifty  yards  on  the  road 
beyond  the  station,  there  is  a  valley,  narrow  but  clear, 
which  is  in  full  view  of  the  trenches,  and  going  and  com- 
ing, it  is  necessary  to  pass  over  this  road.  In  the  daytime 
one  cannot  be  seen,  because  the  French  have  put  up  a 
row  of  evergreens  along  it  which  hides  the  road.  I  started 
and  proceeded  very  carefully,  keeping  my  lantern  under 
a  blanket,  and  we  soon  arrived  at  the  house  where  the 
other  blesse  was  waiting  for  the  doctor.  It  was  a  little  old 
Alsatian  farmhouse.  I  pushed  in  the  door  and  stepped 
down  into  the  flagstone  kitchen.  On  the  floor  lay  the 
chasseur  on  a  stretcher,  his  face  pale  under  the  lamplight 
from  the  table.  The  Medecin  Chef  was  bending  over 
him  injecting  tetanus  anti-toxin  into  his  side,  and  with 
each  punch  of  the  needle  the  poor  fellow,  already  suf- 
fering from  terrible  wounds,  would  squirm,  but  not  utter 
a  word.  The  soldiers  stood  around  the  tiny  room,  their 

309 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


heads  almost  touching  the  brown  rafters  above.  We 
took  the  man  out  to  my  car  on  the  stretcher,  carrying 
the  light  under  the  coat  of  one  of  the  stretcher-bearers; 
for  if  the  Germ.ans  see  a  light  m.oving  an>^vhere  in  French 
territory,  they  will  fire  on  it  if  they  think  it  near  enough. 
I  started  up  the  mountain  with  my  load  of  wounded. 
On  either  side  of  the  road  the  French  guns  at  certain 
places  pounded  out  their  greetings  to  the  Boches;  the 
concussion  shook  the  road  so  that  I  could  feel  it  in  my  car. 
I  could  light  my  lights  after  about  a  mile ;  so  I  proceeded 
slowly  up  the  mountain  in  low  speed  while  the  heat  from 
my  motor  kept  the  blesses  and  myself  warm.  About  half- 
way up,  we  ran  into  the  clouds,  and  it  became  so  foggy 
one  could  scarcely  see;  farther  up  it  became  colder  and 
began  to  snow.  I  had  no  chains  on  my  car,  and  it  worried 
me  to  be  without  them,  especially  with  three  helpless 
men  inside  and  one  out.  However,  I  kept  climbing  up, 
and  the  higher  I  went  the  m.ore  it  snowed  and  the  harder 
it  blew.  Near  the  top  it  became  veritably  blinding  — 
snow,  sleet,  and  wind  —  a  typical  northeasterly  American 
blizzard.  The  little  car  ploughed  on  bravely;  it  stuck  only 
once  on  a  sharp  turn,  and  after  backing  I  was  able  to  get 
on  by  rushing  it.  But  I  could  not  see  the  road,  the  sleet 
was  blowing  so  into  my  face  and  the  snow  was  so  thick. 
At  last,  however,  I  reached  the  summit  where  the  wind 
was  strong  enough  at  one  time  actually  to  lift  my  car  a 
little.  On  one  side  of  the  road  was  a  high  embankment 
and  on  the  other  a  ravine  sloping  down  at  least  a  thou- 
sand feet.  I  was  scared  to  death,  for  without  chains  we 
were  liable  to  skid  and  plunge  down  this  depth.  The  snow 
had  been  falling  all  day,  and  in  places  had  drifted  over  a 
yard  deep.  Twice  I  took  a  level  stretch  to  be  the  road,  but 
discovered  my  mistake  in  time  to  back  up.  The  third 
time  was  more  serious  —  I  plunged  ahead  through  a  drift 
which  I  thought  was  the  road,  and  finally  I  stuck  and 
could  move  neither  way.  I  could  not  leave  these  men 
there  all  night  wounded,  and  the  blizzard  did  not  stop, 
so  the  only  thing  to  do  was  to  find  help.  I  walked  back 

310 


LA  NEIUE 


WIMEK   DAYS    IN    AL>Al  E 


SECTION  THREE 


to  what  I  thought  was  the  road  and  kept  on  towards  a 
sHght,  glimmering  light  I  could  see  at  a  distance.  It  turned 
out  to  be  an  enclosure  for  the  mules  which  haul  ammuni- 
tion over  the  mountains;  and  I  felt  better  again,  for  I 
knew  there  were  a  lot  of  territorial  soldiers  with  them. 
I  pulled  them  out  of  bed;  it  was  then  10.30.  They  came 
with  me  and  pushed  me  back  on  the  road,  also  pushed  me 
along  —  ten  of  them  —  until  they  got  me  on  the  descent, 
and  from  there  on  the  weight  of  my  car  carried  me  down 
through  the  drifts.  I  arrived  at  the  hospital  at  12.30,  the 
happiest  man  one  ever  saw  to  get  those  poor  fellows  there 
safely. 

December  2 
I  WAS  sent  back  to  Mittlach  the  next  day  to  get  four  more 
wounded.  They  were  assis,  not  couches,  fortunately,  for 
the  snow  on  top  of  Trehkopf  had  been  falling  and  drifting 
all  day  and  night  and  rolling  was  not  easy.  When  I  got 
to  the  top  of  the  mountain  and  started  down,  I  found  the 
roads  had  been  broken  and  beaten  down  by  munition 
wagons  and  were  like  a  sheet  of  ice.  I  started  down  with- 
out chains,  w^hen  the  car,  though  all  my  brakes  were  on, 
began  to  slide  slowly  down  the  road.  It  even  slid  toward 
the  edge  of  the  ravine  until  the  two  front  wheels  went 
over;  but  there,  fortunately,  it  stopped,  and  I  got  it  back 
on  the  road  again.  I  then  turned  the  radiator  into  the 
bank  on  the  other  side  and  tried  tying  rags  on  the  rear 
wheels  to  keep  the  car  from  sliding.  Then  a  big  wagon 
with  four  horses  came  behind  me  down  the  hill,  which 
was  so  slippery  at  this  spot  that  the  horses  began  to  slide 
down  on  their  haunches,  and  the  driver,  even  with  brakes 
on,  could  not  stop  them.  The  horses  came  on  faster,  and 
faster,  slid  into  the  rear  of  my  car,  pushed  it  along  for 
about  six  feet,  and  then  nothing  could  stop  it.  It,  too, 
started  down  the  road  going  faster  and  faster.  I  yelled 
to  the  wounded  to  jump.  They  understood  my  poor 
French  and  piled  out  just  in  time,  for  the  car  ran  across 
the  road  and  plunged  down  into  the  ravine.  There  was  a 

311 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


lot  of  snow  on  the  side  of  the  ravine,  which  had  piled  up 
in  such  a  way  that  the  car  was  stopped  part-way  down 
so  that  it  was  not  injured  very  much,  though  it  took  nine 
men  and  as  many  mules  to  pull  it  out. 

Luke  C.  Doyle  ^ 

December  31,  191 5 
Some  little  time  ago  we  received  our  first  taste  of  winter, 
and  my  first  experience  made  me  put  more  faith  in  the 
rumors  of  larger  falls  of  snow  here  than  an  American 
likes  to  concede  to  any  country  but  his  own. 

The  car  I  was  to  relieve  got  a  trip  late  one  night  in 
what  was,  even  at  Mittlach,  a  terrific  rainstorm.  The  next 
morning  it  continued  raining,  but  I  could  see  the  peaks 
of  the  mountains  covered  with  snow.  Late  in  the  after- 
noon, just  after  dark,  the  familiar  sound  of  a  Ford  brought 
me  out  of  the  poste  de  secours,  and  I  found  Rice,  with  his 
car  covered  with  snow  which  even  the  rain  had  n't  yet 
melted.  His  story  was  of  helping  the  car  I  had  relieved, 
and  of  having  worked  all  morning,  in  their  efforts  to  pull 
it  back  on  the  road  from  which  a  heavy  ammunition 
wagon  had  pushed  it,  neither  vehicle  being  able  to  stick 
to  the  icy  road.  Farther  on,  he  had  met  continual  snow- 
drifts. His  eagerness  to  bring  me  chains,  my  only  chance 
of  getting  up,  persuaded  him  to  keep  on,  and  he  eventu- 
ally got  through  with  everybody's  help  on  the  road.  We 
decided  to  wait  until  the  storm  was  over  —  our  only 
alternative  —  and  proceeded  to  make  ourselves  as  com- 
fortable as  we  could,  which  means  a  stove,  somewhere  to 
sleep,  and  plenty  of  books  to  read  and  tobacco  to  smoke. 
It  was  four  days  before  the  snow  let  up  and  we  had  visions 
of  a  long  and  lonely  winter;  but  as  soon  as  the  storm 
broke  we  started  up,  and,  as  it  proved,  in  the  nick  of  time, 
as  the  five  kilometres  along  the  crest  were  again  swept 
by  snow  and  sleet  and  drifts  were  beginning  to  form.  The 
Mittlach  service  had  to  be  abandoned  after  this,  although 

*  Of  Worcester,  Massachusetts;  Yale,  '09;  in  the  Service  during  part  of 
191 5  and  1 91 6;  Captain  and  later  Major  in  U.S.A.  Sanitary  Corps. 

312 


SECTION  THREE 


in  late  November  and  early  December  a  car  could  go 
through,  but  it  was  impossible  to  assure  the  service  and 
it  was  found  better  to  have  sleighs  and  wagons  do  the 
work, 

Stephen  Galatti^ 


*  Of  New  York  City;  Harvard,  'lo;  joined  Section  Three  in  1915  in  Alsace; 
later  adjoint  at  Headquarters  to  Mr.  Andrew,  and  second  in  command  of 
Service;  first  a  Captain,  then  a  Major  in  the  U.S.A.  Ambulance  Service, 
when  the  United  States  took  over  and  continued  the  Service. 


V 

In  Lorraine 

March,  19 16 
We  left  Alsace  one  morning  early  in  February,  191 6, 
when  the  valleys  were  filled  with  tinted  mist  and  the 
snowy  hill  slopes  were  glowing  pink  with  sunrise,  and 
we  hated  to  leave.  We  still  look  back  upon  it  as  the  Prom- 
ised Land.  We  formed  a  convoy  of  twenty-three  cars,  in 
which  170  was  placed  immediately  behind  the  leader, 
an  arrangement  to  which  twenty-one  persons  objected. 
Every  time  the  side-boxes  came  open  and  the  extra  tins 
of  gasoline  scattered  over  the  landscape,  or  when  the 
engine  stopped  through  lack  of  sympathy  with  the 
engineer,  three  or  four  cars  would  manage  to  slip  by.  It 
was  a  sort  of  progressive-euchre  party  in  which  170  never 
held  a  winning  hand. 

No  one  concerned  had  the  least  idea  whither  we  were 
headed.  The  first  night  we  spent  at  Rupt,  where  there  is 
an  automobile  park.  We  took  it  on  hearsay  that  there 
was  an  automobile  park,  for  we  left  the  next  morning 
without  having  seen  it;  but  when  two  days  later  we  joined 
the  Twentieth  Army  Corps  —  "the  Fighting  Twentieth" 
—  at  Moyen,  we  were  reported  as  coming  straight  from 
the  automobile  park  at  Rupt.  Consequently  we  were 
assumed  to  be  ready  for  indefinite  service  ''to  the  last 
button  of  the  last  uniform,"  but  when  we  had  explained 
that  mechanically  speaking  our  last  uniform  was  on  its 
last  button  the  Fighting  Twentieth  shook  us  off. 

We  spent  a  week  at  Moyen  however  —  in  it  up  to  our 
knees.  The  surrounding  country  was  dry  and  almost 
dusty ;  but  Moyen  has  an  atmosphere  of  its  own  and  local 
color  —  and  the  streets  are  not  clean.  Yet  to  most  of  us 
the  stay  was  intensely  interesting.  At  that  time  it  lay 
just  back  of  the  high-water  mark  of  German  invasion, 
and  the  little  villages  and  towns  roundabout  looked  like 

314 


SECTION  THREE 


the  broken  wreckage  tossed  up  by  the  tide  —  long  streets 
of  roofless,  blackened  ruins,  and  in  the  midst  the  empty 
skeleton  of  a  church,  whose  tower  had  been  pierced  by 
shells,  and  with  the  broken  chimes  blocking  the  entrance. 
Nothing  had  been  done  to  alter  or  disguise  the  marks  of 
invasion.  The  fields  surrounding  Moyen  were  pitted  with 
shell-craters,  which  had  a  suggestive  way  of  lining  the 
open  roads,  along  whose  edges  were  rifle-pits  and  shallow 
trenches  filled  with  a  litter  of  cartridge-boxes  and  bits  of 
trampled  uniform  and  accoutrements,  blue  and  red,  or 
greenish-gray,  mixed  together;  and  always  and  every- 
where the  long  grave-mounds  with  the  little  wooden 
crosses  which  are  a  sadly  familiar  feature  of  every  land- 
scape on  the  Western  Front.  The  Moyen  region  lacked, 
perhaps,  the  bald,  grim  cruelty  of  Hartmannsweilerkopf, 
but  it  is  a  place  not  to  be  forgotten. 

From  Moyen  we  moved  on  to  Tantonville,  a  place  not 
lacking  in  material  comforts,  but  totally  devoid  of  soul; 
and  from  there  we  made  our  round  of  pastes  —  of  one, 
two,  or  four  cars,  and  for  two,  four,  or  eight  days.  At 
some  pastes,  the  work  was  fairly  constant,  carrying  the 
sick  and  second-hand  wounded  from  poste  to  hospital  and 
from  hospital  to  railroad ;  in  others,  one  struggled  against 
mental  and  physical  decay. 

At  Oelevllle,  we  saw  the  class  of  1916  called  out  — 
brave,  cheerful-looking  boys,  standing  very  straight  at 
attention  as  their  offtcers  passed  down  the  line,  and  later, 
as  we  passed  them  on  the  march,  cheering  loudly  for  ''les 
americains''  —  and  so  marching  on  to  the  open  lid  of 
hell  at  Verdun.  The  roads  were  filled  with  soldiers,  and 
every  day  and  all  day  the  troop-trains  were  rumbling  by 
to  the  north ;  and  day  after  day  and  week  after  week  the 
northern  horizon  echoed  with  the  steady  thunder  of  artil- 
lery. Sometimes,  lying  awake  In  the  stillness  of  dawn  to 
listen,  one  could  not  count  the  separate  explosions,  so 
closely  did  they  follow  each  other.  The  old  man  who  used 
to  open  the  railway  gate  for  me  at  Dombasle  would  shake 
his  head  and  say  that  we  ought  to  be  up  at  Verdun,  and 

315 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


once  a  soldier  beside  him  told  him  that  we  were  neutrals 
and  not  supposed  to  be  sent  under  fire.  I  heard  that  sug- 
gestion several  tim.es  made,  and  one  of  our  men  used  to 
carry  in  his  pocket  a  photograph  of  poor  Hall's  car  to 
refute  it. 

A  Call  for  Baccarat 

There  was  a  momentary  thrill  of  interest  when  a  call 
came  for  four  cars  to  Baccarat  —  a  new  poste  and  almost 
on  the  front,  where  was  an  English  section  in  need  of 
assistance;  and  we  four  who  went  intended  to  ''show 
them  how."  But  it  seemed  that  the  call  had  come  too  late 
and  the  pressing  need  was  over  —  the  last  batch  of  Ger- 
man prisoners  had  been  brought  in  the  day  before  and 
the  active  fighting  had  ceased.  We  stepped  into  the  long 
wooden  cabin  where  they  waited  —  the  German  wounded 
—  and  they  struggled  up  to  salute  —  a  more  pitiful,  un- 
dersized, weak-chested,  and  woe-begone  set  of  human 
derelicts  I  hope  never  to  see  again  in  uniform ;  and  as  we 
stood  among  them  in  our  strong,  warm  clothes,  for  it  was 
snowing  outside,  all  of  us  over  six  feet  tall,  I  felt  suddenly 
uncomfortable  and  ashamed. 

Once  we  were  startled  at  lunch-time,  while  we  were 
eating  the  rarity  of  blood  sausage,  by  an  explosion  near 
the  edge  of  town,  when  three  of  us  stepped  to  the  door, 
but  the  fourth  man  kept  his  seat  to  help  himself  from 
the  next  man's  plate,  a  striking  example  of  coolness  under 
fire.  As  we  looked  out  there  came  a  second  explosion  a 
little  farther  off,  and  then  in  a  few  moments  a  telephone 
call  for  an  ambulance,  with  the  news  that  a  Taube  had 
struck  a  train.  When  I  reached  the  place,  the  train  had 
gone  on,  carrying  ten  slightly  wounded  to  Luneville, 
while  I  brought  back  the  other  two  on  stretchers  —  one  a 
civilian  struck  in  a  dozen  places,  but  otherwise  appar- 
ently in  excellent  health  and  spirits;  the  other,  a  soldier 
in  pretty  bad  shape.  It  must  have  been  excellent  marks- 
manship for  the  Taube,  since  we  had  seen  nothing  in  the 
clear  blue  sky  overhead  nor  heard  the  characteristic 

316 


SECTION  THREE 


whirr  of  the  motor,  and  yet  both  shell-craters  were  very 
close  to  the  tracks. 

In  Alsace  these  Taubes  were  constantly  in  sight,  but 
seldom  attacked  and  almost  never  scored  a  hit,  while  the 
French  gunners  seemed  perfectly  happy  to  fire  shrapnel 
at  them  all  the  afternoon  with  the  same  indecisive  result. 
One  could  not  even  take  the  white  shrapnel  clouds  as  a 
point  of  departure  in  looking  for  the  aeroplane,  though 
the  French  artillery  is  very  justly  famous  for  its  accuracy 
of  fire.  In  this  instance,  as  in  all  air  raids,  the  success 
scored  seemed  pitifully  futile,  for  it  was  not  a  military 
train,  and  most  of  the  wounded  were  non-combatants, 
while  it  added  its  little  unnecessary  mite  of  suffering,  and 
of  hatred  to  the  vast  monument  which  Germany  has 
reared  to  herself  and  by  which  she  will  always  be  remem- 
bered. 

Walter  Kerr  Rainsford  ^ 


1  Of  Ridgefield,  Connecticut;  Harvard,  '04;  in  the  Field  Service  during 
the  greater  part  of  191 6;  subsequently  Captain  in  Infantry,  U.S.A. 


VI 

*'0n  TO  Verdun*' 

July,  19 1 6 
Our  journey  from  the  Lorraine  front  carried  us  to  a  small 
village  where  was  quartered  the  Etat-Major  and  which 
was  situated  directly  on  the  main  Verdun  road.  There 
was  no  mistaking  our  destination  now.  The  first  impres- 
sions in  that  village  will  always  be  clear  and  distinct. 
Here  was  the  first  evidence  of  the  immensity  and  awful- 
ness  of  a  modern  battle  —  the  Verdun  road.  The  village 
itself  was  nothing;  simply  a  spot  through  which  passed 
the  Verdun  road.  This  w^as  a  broad  street,  and  it  well 
needed  to  be.  It  was  rough,  too,  for  the  constant  churning 
of  the  thousands  of  wheels  that  passed  upon  it  destroyed 
any  surface  as  fast  as  it  could  be  made.  Where  were  all 
these  trucks  with  their  loads  of  men  and  material  going? 
To  Verdun! 

There  they  come  now.  First  appears  a  squad  of  twenty, 
thirty,  or  fifty  French  trucks,  loaded  down  with  men; 
close  upon  them  is  another  squad,  larger  even,  of  American 
Whites,  said  to  have  been  captured  by  the  British  fleet  on 
their  way  to  Germany;  then  another  squad  of  an  Italian 
make;  then  a  French  make;  then  the  Americans  again; 
and  so  the  never-ending  line  moves  on.  An  ambulance 
slips  by;  the  men  are  beginning  to  return  already.  \\'ere 
we  to  be  doing  that  soon?  Now  a  staff  car  rushes  on  and 
another  passes  returning.  A  truck  comes  by  bearing  the 
compressed  hydrogen  for  the  many  artillery  observ^ation 
balloons.  And  so  this  terrible  traffic  of  the  awful  business 
of  war  pressed  back  and  forth  —  an  almost  unending 
stream.  Such  was  the  first  impression  of  the  Verdun  road. 

Our  stay  in  the  village  was  short.  Two  or  three  days 
passed  and  we  were  again  on  the  move,  stopping  this  time 
at  a  little  town  called  Sousbrienne,  well  off  from  the  main 
Verdun  road.  Here  w^e  waited  five  or  six  days  to  be  sent 

318 


SECTION  THREE 


up  finally  to  near  Nixeville,  whence  we  did  the  work  of 
removing  the  blesses  back  from  the  fight  around  Verdun. 
Our  cars  were  parked  on  the  slope  of  a  small  hill  rising  to 
the  north  of  the  village.  A  short  walk  brought  one  to  the 
top  of  it,  where  could  be  distinctly  heard  the  tremendous 
battle  tune  of  the  cannon,  and  at  night  the  bright  flashes 
of  the  larger  guns  would  appear. 

Across  the  hollow  in  which  was  built  the  town  and  on 
a  level  plateau  was  situated  the  aerial  station,  whence 
flew  the  battle  planes  to  do  the  service  about  Verdun. 
This  was  real  flying  and  made  what  we  saw  near  Nancy 
seem  nothing.  All  the  machines  here  were  of  the  fastest 
type  and  the  pilots  were  in  a  class  with  Navarre.  It  was 
a  wonderful  sight  to  see  three  or  four  Nieuports  swoop- 
ing about  in  the  air,  looping  the  loop,  or  doing  the  leaf- 
drop  or  the  war-hawk  swoop.  Like  swallows  they  seemed, 
not  only  in  numbers,  but  in  dexterity.  On  one  side  we 
had  these  birds  of  war  and  their  nest  —  the  aerodrome 
—  rising  from  just  beyond  the  top  of  the  hill;  below 
us  was  the  village  full  of  soldiers;  and  beyond  it  the 
fields  filled  with  wagons  and  horses,  and  to  the  right  the 
same. 

In  front  of  us,  up  the  hill,  and  to  our  right,  lay  Verdun 
and  the  immense  area  of  fighting  that  was  involved  in  the 
defence  of  it.  Here  was  that  steady  sound  of  guns  which, 
like  the  pounding  of  the  sea,  made  one  stop  in  awe  to 
wonder  why  it  is  and  whence  come  the  great  forces  that 
drive  it  on.  At  times,  as  one  questions  how  best  to  describe 
the  one  small  chapter  of  the  story  of  Verdun  with  which 
one  is  familiar,  there  comes  a  terrible  feeling  of  disgust 
that  any  attempt  should  be  made  to  put  into  words  things 
that  have  been  recorded  already  in  the  blood  of  some 
members  of  practically  every  family  in  France.  It  is  a 
sacrilege  to  make  the  attempt,  and  any  one  who  reads 
such  efforts  to  describe  this  terrific  struggle  must  remem- 
ber that  words  do  not  count,  but  that  the  real  story,  the 
real  evidence,  is  found  only  in  the  pain  and  suffering  and 
loss  of  life  of  a  nation's  great. 

319 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Service  at  Verdun 

The  first  night  of  our  service  at  Verdun  began.  Fifteen 
of  our  twenty  cars  "rolled  "  along  the  main  Verdun  road 
past  the  long  line  of  camions,  ammunition  wagons,  and 
soup  kitchens;  then  into  the  city  itself,  through  the  ruins 
of  the  heavily  shelled  district  and  across  the  river  to  a 
small  poste  just  in  the  outskirts  of  the  town.  All  about 
us  in  this  suburb  of  Verdun  were  batteries  of  "75"  or 
"105"  or  **22o"  guns,  all  firing  at  regular  intervals  up 
over  the  projecting  cliff  and  upon  the  German  positions 
beyond. 

Occasionally  the  Germans  sent  an  answering  shell,  and 
the  men  in  the  neighborhood  would  seek  safety  in  the 
many  ahris  close  by.  That  night  the  Germans  were  mak- 
ing a  gas  attack,  and  they  threw  thousands  of  gas-shells 
upon  the  French  trenches  and  beyond,  to  interfere  with 
the  ravitaillement.  The  gas  reached  us,  and  men  not 
equipped  with  proper  masks  began  to  cough  and  choke 
and  gag,  and  were  sent  deep  into  a  cellar  where  the  air 
was  still  fresh.  The  time  for  us  to  go  to  the  advance  poste 
and  start  bringing  in  the  wounded  arrived ;  but  the  road 
had  been  blocked  by  incendiary  bombs  which  had  set  a 
house  on  fire.  About  an  hour  later  this  was  cleared  and  we 
could  begin  our  work.  Happily  also  at  about  that  time 
there  was  a  severe  thunderstorm,  the  breeze  and  rain  of 
which  cleared  away  the  gas. 

This  road  to  the  advance  poste,  Bras,  ran  along  the  side 
of  the  river  a  short  distance,  when  it  turned  to  the  right 
off  over  the  field,  passing  between  a  row  of  trees,  then 
through  a  wood,  and  finally  over  the  fields  again  until  it 
reached  Bras.  Due  to  the  blockade  earlier  in  the  evening, 
this  road  was  covered  with  traffic  of  one  sort  and  another, 
and  it  was  difficult,  terribly  difficult  sometimes,  to  get 
through,  the  darkness  of  the  night  and  the  need  for  haste 
making  the  danger  of  a  smash-up  exceedingly  great.  One 
French  phrase  will  always  remain  in  the  vocabulary  of 
the  American    ambulance   drivers  even  if  every  other 

320 


SECTION  THREE 


word  of  the  language  be  forgotten.  It  is  "a  droite,  a 
droite, '"vfh.ich  has  saved  men  and  machines  many  times. 

Bras 

On  arriving  at  Bras,  a  town  of  mines,  we  found  a  great 
number  of  wounded  and  men  suffering  from  gas  poison- 
ing. It  was  terrible  to  see  their  eagerness  to  get  back  and 
farther  back  from  the  horrors  they  had  left.  Our  work 
lasted  till  daylight,  when  it  was  impossible  to  pass  over 
the  road  as  it  was  in  plain  view  of  the  Germans.  Once 
daylight  came,  however,  there  yet  remained  the  task  of 
carrying  to  Verdun  those  wounded  we  had  brought  down 
from  Bras,  and  from  Verdun  back  inland  again  to  the 
first  stationary  hospital.  This  work  kept  us  ''rolling"  on 
till  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  other  men  took  it 
up  and  completed  it  later  in  the  day. 

The  next  night  there  was  no  gas  attack  and  we  could 
begin  our  work  promptly  just  after  dark.  But  while  we 
did  n't  have  the  terror  of  the  gas,  we  were  made  to  realize 
the  terror  of  the  shrapnel  shells  and  high-explosives.  One 
of  our  drivers  had  the  front  of  his  car  broken  open  and 
two  men  were  killed  beside  it,  while  he  just  saved  himself 
by  sliding  under  the  car  when  he  heard  the  whistle.  An- 
other man  had  a  shrapnel  bullet  pierce  his  purse  and  stop ; 
and  another  was  bruised  in  the  ankle  by  a  stone  driven 
by  the  near-by  explosion  of  a  shell.  The  cars,  with  the 
one  exception  just  mentioned,  were  untouched,  and  the 
work  went  on  till  daybreak  made  it  too  dangerous  to  stay, 
when  began  the  work  of  carrying  the  wounded,  gas- 
poisoned,  and  burnt,  back  from  Verdun. 

The  next  night  was  much  the  same  thing  as  the  previ- 
ous one ;  but  as  it  is  fairly  representative,  it  is  well  to  con- 
sider it  in  detail.  The  first  man  goes  at  about  9.30;  then 
another,  followed  by  two  more.  The  first  man  returns 
and  reports  lots  of  wounded,  shelling  of  the  road,  and 
much  traffic  passing  out.  Five  other  men  go.  They  meet 
first  some  loose  horses  and  then  a  man  riding  a  horse  at  a 
gallop  back  toward  us.  A  shriek,  d.  droite,  just  keeps  him 

321 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


from  running  into  the  cars,  and  as  he  passes  he  cries  out 
in  turn,  ^^Tir  de  barrage.''  We  soon  come  to  a  block  of 
long  lines  of  traffic,  and  are  told  we  can't  go  farther.  But 
by  dint  of  much  urging  and  squeezing,  we  finally  reach 
the  head  of  the  line,  where  we  find  a  terrible  mix-up  of 
dead  and  dying  horses  and  men.  Then  begins  the  tir  de 
barrage  again,  and  the  shrill  whistle  of  an  approaching 
shell  gives  warning  that  it  is  coming  to  kill.  We  crouch 
low,  hoping  nothing  may  happen.  Then  comes  another 
and  another,  and  one  close  enough  to  cause  the  rattle  of 
pebbles  about  us ;  but  the  others  are  wild  shots.  Now  they 
cease  and  for  the  moment  we  thank  God  for  the  darkness 
that  hides  us  and  the  immense  crowd  of  wagons  about  us 
from  the  eyes  of  the  Germans. 

Then  some  one  takes  a  chance,  finds  there  is  room  to 
pass  in  the  ditch  at  the  side  of  the  road,  and  the  block 
gradually  clears.  We  are  able  now  to  move  on,  after 
removing  the  body  of  the  man  just  ahead  of  us,  and  at 
last  succeed  in  arriving  at  Bras.  One  of  the  five,  however, 
remains  behind  to  pick  up  the  wounded  from  about  the 
road.  If  luck  had  been  with  us  we  could  have  got  a  load 
and  returned;  but  we  are  compelled  to  wait,  and  while 
we  wait  some  German  shells  begin  to  find  the  town  and 
we  go  to  the  cellar.  A  rattle  of  eclats  and  stones  tells  of 
one  near  shot.  But  now  we  can  get  our  wounded  and  we 
start  back,  picking  our  way  carefully  about  some  of  the 
large  shell-holes  that  fill  the  roads  in  the  town. 

We  roll  on,  but  only  to  be  stopped  farther  down  by 
another  block.  This  time  we  stay  where  we  are,  waiting 
for  the  block  to  be  cleared,  while  the  air  is  alive  above  us 
with  the  passing  shells,  both  French  and  German.  Beside 
us  in  the  fields  near  the  roads,  batteries  are  going  off  at 
regular  intervals.  Far  off  to  the  right  in  the  direction  of 
Mort  Homme,  a  terrific  bombardment  is  on  and  the 
whole  horizon  is  a  line  of  flashing  lights.  Back  of  us  are 
rising  and  falling  German  and  French  star-bombs  which 
throw  a  light  that  to  us  seems  enough  to  disclose  our 
whereabouts. 

322 


AN    LNDERGROLND   -POSTE' 


ONCK    AN    AVEM  E    Ul'    STATELY    TREES 


SECTION  THREE 


The  block  clears,  and  we  pass  on  and  come  without 
hindrance  to  the  top  of  a  long  hill  that  leads  down  into 
the  valley  where  lies  Verdun.  Below  us  is  booming  forth 
a  series  of  sounds  from  the  "105"  French  battery,  and  it 
seems  as  if  the  shells  must  graze  us  as  they  pass  on  to- 
ward their  goal  among  the  Germans.  It  is  but  a  short 
distance  then  to  the  poste  in  Verdun,  and  we  discharge 
our  wounded  to  start  on  a  second  trip  which  repeats 
with  little  variation  the  experiences  of  the  first.  Then 
comes  a  third,  and  for  one  or  two  men,  a  fourth. 

The  next  night  the  same  things  were  repeated  in  vary- 
ing degrees.  Perhaps  that  night  you  did  n't  have  the  fright- 
ful tir  de  barrage,  but  you  had  a  narrow  escape  from  being 
smashed  by  an  artillery  wagon  coming  full  tilt  past  the 
quarry  which  was  often  a  mark  for  the  German  shells. 
Perhaps  you  had  some  frightful  moments  when,  listening 
to  the  pleas  of  the  wounded  and  nerve-shattered  men 
along  the  road,  you  took  a  heavier  load  than  a  Ford  could 
stand  and  then  found  yourself  rocking  and  rolling  and 
smashing  through  some  deep  shell-holes  you  had  forgot- 
ten, amid  the  cries  of  the  frightened  wounded.  Perhaps 
that  night  your  machine  was  caught  and  held  by  tangled 
barbed  wire  and  you  had  to  be  cut  free.  These  were  all 
part  of  some  man's  experiences  if  not  the  experiences  of 
all  of  us. 

Such  in  brief  and  very  imperfect  outline  were  some  of 
the  things  we  did  and  felt  and  saw  during  the  eight  ter- 
rible days  of  strain  at  Verdun;  and  when  the  moment 
came  for  our  release,  it  was  like  casting  off  great  weights 
of  lead.  But  if  the  strain  upon  us,  who  really  could  not 
have  seen  more  than  a  small  part  of  the  horror  of  this 
struggle,  was  so  great,  what  must  be  said  of  the  endurance 
and  suffering  of  the  soldiers  who  saw  it  all  and  endured 
it  all? 

Alwyn  Inness-Browni 

'  Of  Charleston,  South  Carolina;  University  of  Virginia;  entered  the 
Field  Service  in  April,  1916,  and  served  for  nine  months;  later  Captain, 
U.S.A.  Sanitary  Corps. 


VII 

The  Glory  of  the  French 

I  HAVE  noticed  that  French  soldiers  everywhere  are  most 
eager  to  talk  and  make  friends  with  us  Americans,  and 
they  are  the  most  sympathetic,  appreciative,  and  gener- 
ous people  I  have  ever  known.  They  often  run  across  the 
street  just  to  shake  hands  with  us  or  say  a  word  or  two, 
and  invite  us  to  have  a  glass  of  wine  with  them  which 
they  in  their  unbounded  generosity  always  want  to  pay 
for.  It  hurts  me  to  see  them  reach  down  into  their  jeans 
for  their  meagre  change,  and  I  can  never  allow  them  to 
treat  me  out  of  their  small  and  hard-earned  savings. 
Whatever  they  have,  however,  is  yours  if  you  want  it. 

Ligny,  June  lo,  19 16 
As  I  was  walking  through  the  town  to-day  a  French 
soldier  called  to  me  from  across  the  street  and  said  he  had 
a  present  he  wished  to  give  me.  He  then  produced  from 
his  pocket  an  English  copy  of  "Robinson  Crusoe,"  which 
in  his  simple  and  unconventional  way  he  presented  to  me, 
after  writing  his  name  and  a  few  words  in  the  front  of  it 
—  a  perfect  example  of  the  genuineness  of  the  French 
spirit. 

Conde,  Monday,  June  12 

Yesterday  dawned  with  heavy  rain.  I  packed  up  my 
regular  load  of  section  material,  which  is  allotted  to  me 
to  carry  from  place  to  place  as  we  travel,  and  we  pro- 
ceeded to  Bar-le-Duc  once  more  on  our  way  to  Verdun. 
We  stopped  there  to  eat,  and  after  lunch  we  went  on 
farther  to  the  little  town  of  Conde,  recalling  the  Duke  of 
Conde,  and  drew  up  our  machines  in  a  barnyard.  I  no- 
ticed that  the  lady  at  the  farmhouse  by  which  we  had 
stopped  was  crying.  At  first  we  thought  it  was  because 

324 


SECTION  THREE 


she  did  not  like  us  to  stop  on  her  premises;  but  we  soon 
learned  that  she  had  more  reason  than  that  for  her  grief, 
for  she  had  just  received  a  letter  saying  that  her  only  son 
had  been  killed  on  the  battle-field.  She  recovered  her  com- 
posure soon,  however,  and  extended  rare  hospitality  to 
us.  Wonderful  people  are  the  French! 

It  has  rained  here  for  more  than  a  week,  and  the  old 
story  is  certainly  an  apt  one  —  when  a  soldier  walks  in 
French  mud  and  lifts  up  one  foot,  he  is  sure  all  of  France 
is  clinging  to  it,  but  finds  he  is  mistaken,  for  when  he 
lifts  the  other,  he  discovers  that  half  of  France  is  there! 
Here  we  see  long  files  of  troops  going  to  and  returning 
from  the  front. 

June  22 
Late  this  afternoon  Mr.  Hill  asked  a  few  of  us  if  "we 
wanted  to  accompany  him  and  the  French  Lieutenant  on 
a  trip  to  our  future  working-ground.  We  were  eager  to  go, 
and  taking  our  gas-masks  with  us  and  putting  on  our 
iron  derbies,  we  set  off.  I  was  in  the  French  Lieutenant's 
car  —  a  Berliet  —  and  here  began  what  proved  to  be  the 
most  interesting  four  hours  that  I  have  had  since  I  joined 
the  American  Field  Service. yWe  took  a  "switch  road" 
to  Verdun,  getting  onto  the  main  road  when  we  were 
halfway  there.  It  was  twilight  and  the  countryside  with 
the  setting  sun  glow  on  it  was  beautiful.  On  the  hillsides 
could  be  seen  the  French  encampments  and  hospitals, 
and  over  the  roads  —  we  were  continually  in  sight  of 
two  besides  the  one  we  were  on  —  were  passing  constant 
streams  of  traffic  to  and  from  Verdun.  Ahead  of  us  and 
at  the  right  could  be  seen  continual  flashes  of  light  which 
grew  brighter  and  brighter,  and  the  cannonading  grew 
louder  and  louder  as  we  neared  the  trenches. 

Passing  through  the  outskirts  of  the  city  we  came  to 
the  ancient  walls,  gateways,  and  moat  of  Verdun,  and 
once  in  Verdun  the  sight  was  like  a  three-ringed  circus, 
so  many  things  claiming  one's  notice  at  a  time  that  it  was 
hard  to  determine  just  where  to  fix  one's  attention. 

325 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Verdun  was  absolutely  deserted  and  in  complete  ruin;  I 
saw  no  stores  and  but  a  few  walls  were  left  standing. 
Debris  was  piled  so  high  on  both  sides  of  the  road  and 
took  up  so  much  space  that  there  was  only  enough  room 
left  for  one  machine  to  pass  at  a  time.  There  was  not  a 
light  to  be  seen  in  the  town,  and  no  horns  or  klaxons  were 
supposed  to  be  used.  Shells  shot  by  us  over  our  heads,  but 
so  near  that  the  noise  was  deafening. 

We  finally  drew  up  at  an  American  Field  Service  poste 
in  Verdun,  where  I  saw  the  first  signs  of  life  anywhere. 
Here  we  met  the  American  boys  who  had  been  doing  the 
work  we  were  about  to  begin.  There  were  twelve  of  them 
who  had  had  five  days  of  it  and  were  to  leave  in  the 
morning.  Each  ambulance  section  is  assigned  to  an  army 
division,  follows  it  to  the  front,  and  when  it  leaves,  the 
ambulance  section  leaves  also.  The  division  sometimes 
stays  until  about  forty  per  cent  have  been  killed  or 
wounded.  During  the  past  five  days  fourteen  of  their 
ambulance  cars  have  been  hit  by  shells  or  scattering 
fragments;  two  of  the  twelve  men  have  been  wounded, 
and  I  was  not  surprised  to  find  them  rather  glad  to  get 
away  from  the  lines. 

Verdun  to  Bras 

The  road  from  Verdun  to  Bras  is  dangerous,  filled  as  it 
is  with  deep  shell-holes,  and  it  leads  along  a  very  difficult 
way.  There  is  a  choice  of  two  roads  to  Bras;  but  one  was 
under  constant  fire,  so  we  were  forced  to  take  the  other, 
proceeding  along  this  road  up  to  the  very  top  of  a  steep 
cliff,  below  which  are  the  French  guns  and  beyond  which 
are  the  trenches.  It  was  at  this  point  that  we  heard  explo- 
sions the  din  of  which  more  than  doubly  eclipsed  any- 
thing we  had  previously  heard.  They  were  simply  tre- 
mendous. We  were  at  that  point  which  is  the  very  muzzle 
of  some  big  French  guns,  and  because  the  Germans  are 
most  anxious  to  get  the  "battery,"  they  direct  their 
heaviest  firing  against  it.  W^e  had  to  go  as  fast  as  we  could 
in  order  to  escape  the  shells,  and  yet  we  had  to  go  cau- 

326 


SECTION  THREE 


tiously  enough  to  avoid  the  terrible  holes  in  the  road, 
some  of  which  were  five  or  six  feet  deep  and  as  big  as  the 
machine  itself.  I  was  almost  hurled  from  the  back  to  the 
front  seat  of  the  machine  when  JNlr.  Hill,  going  twelve 
miles  an  hour,  hit  one  of  these  holes.  We  got  out  of  it 
soon,  however,  and  approached  a  bridge,  about  the  only 
bridge  that  the  Germans  have  not  taken  in  that  local- 
ity, and  they  want  that  badly.  It  was  under  intermittent 
fire  all  the  time,  and  we  were  supposed  to  stop  if  shelling 
were  going  on  and  wait  for  it  to  cease.  All  along  the  road- 
side AVas  a  deep  trench  into  which  we  could  go  if  the  shell- 
ing became  too  severe.  We  soon  approached  Bras,  where 
great  rockets  kept  flashing  out  green,  yellow,  and  red 
star-bombs,  lighting  up  the  sky  and  exposing  the  enemy's 
trenches. 

Bras  is  simply  a  ruined  village.  At  one  spot  just  off  the 
field  of  battle  is  a  sort  of  first-aid  station  to  which  the 
stretcher-bearers  carry  the  wounded  from  the  field.  If 
anything  can  be  done  to  ease  temporarily  their  suffering, 
they  are  taken  at  once  down  into  the  cellar  and  treated. 
It  is  there  that  we  are  to  get  our  blesses,  and  from  there 
we  are  to  take  them  back  to  the  poste  at  Verdun.  Every 
trip  from  Bras  to  Verdun  has  to  be  made  between  the 
hours  of  9  P.M.  and  2  a.m.  No  traffic  goes  over  that  road 
in  daylight.  The  week  before  our  arrival,  an  ambulance 
had  been  sent  out  during  the  daytime  and  as  a  result  was 
shelled  and  hit  twice.  After  treatment  at  the  Verdun  poste, 
the  wounded  are  taken  in  daylight  to  Baley court  beyond 
V^erdun  and  put  in  the  rear  hospitals.  It  is  at  Baleycourt 
that  our  encampment  is  to  be.  There  is  a  cellar  at  the 
Verdun  poste  where  the  boys  can  catch  a  wink  of  sleep,  if 
possible,  between  trips. 

Baleycourt,  June  24 
As  per  order  we  left  promptly  at  8.30  yesterday  for  Ver- 
dun. The  camp  which  is  to  be  our  eating  and  sleeping 
place  is  in  this  little  town  of  Baleycourt,   about   seven 
miles  from  Verdun.   We  pulled  up  here  in  the  usual 

327 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


fashion,  our  ambulances  lined  up  straight  before  the 
camp,  and  pitched  our  tent,  in  which  we  set  the  beds 
which  we  have  carried  all  the  way  from  Nancy.  It  was 
very  hot,  and  being  one  of  the  first  to  arrive  I  pushed  my 
cot  up  into  the  corner  by  the  door  so  as  to  get  plenty  of 
air.  Whenever  we  pitch  camp,  it  always  reminds  me  of 
a  Western  land-lottery  in  our  own  country.  Every  one 
rushes  into  the  tent  with  some  of  his  possessions  —  suit- 
case, bag,  or  bed  —  and  flings  them  down  in  a  desirable 
place,  so  that,  later,  his  chosen  spot  is  claimed  by  prior 
right  of  possession. 

Lost  in  Verdun 

June  25 
Before  going  to  bed  last  night  I  learned  that  I  was  to  be 
on  duty  for  the  twenty-four-hour  stretch  to-day,  and  I 
went  to  sleep  anticipating  some  new  experiences,  espe- 
cially as  the  men  sent  out  the  night  before  had  run  into  a 
heavy  gas  attack  and  had  come  back  with  their  eyes 
inflamed,  paining  terribly,  and  their  lungs  choked  up.- 
I  was  called  to  work  at  seven  this  morning,  and  made  the 
trip  to  the  hospital  at  Baleycourt  for  a  load  of  wounded 
whom  I  evacuated  to  Queue-de-Mala  farther  back.  I  had 
no  sooner  returned  to  camp  than  Clark  suggested  that 
I  had  better  help  him  evacuate  the  wounded  from  Ver- 
dun, as  that  job  was  getting  ahead  of  him.  I  accord- 
ingly started  for  Verdun,  entered  by  the  wrong  gate,  and 
was  completely  lost  for  some  time.  This  is  no  fun,  getting 
lost  in  Verdun,  for  there  is  scarcely  a  man  to  be  seen  on 
the  streets,  and  if  by  chance  you  do  see  one,  he  is  sure  to 
be  on  the  run  to  the  nearest  cellar.  People  know  better 
than  to  promenade  in  Verdun!  I  finally  got  my  bearings, 
and  after  getting  some  horribly  wounded  men,  I  returned 
to  our  poste,  after  which  I  made  several  of  these  trips. 
Often  I  would  notice  fresh  shell-holes  in  the  road,  which 
had  to  be  filled  in,  and  quantities  of  debris,  which  had  to 
be  cleared  away,  before  I  could  proceed,  so  narrow  was 
the  way.  Occasionally  a  dead  horse  had  to  be  put  aside 

328 


SECTION  THREE 


from  the  road.  During  one  trip  two  of  the  poor  fellows  I 
had  in  my  ambulance  died  before  arriving  at  the  hospital, 
and  as  the  attendants  took  another  out  of  the  car  they 
noticed  that  he  looked  deathly  white  and  lifeless,  when 
one  of  them  said,  "He  is  dead,  isn't  he?"  "Yes,  he  is 
dead,"  replied  the  other  as  they  proceeded  to  leave  him; 
but  the  wretched  soldier  spoke  up  for  himself  at  this 
point,  and  said  feebly,  "No,  I  am  not  dead,"  and  so  they 
carried  him  in  with  the  others. 

June  26 
It  was  six  o'clock  yesterday  before  I  lay  off  for  supper 
and  a  general  fixing-up  of  my  car  for  the  evening  work. 
When  the  time  came  for  us  to  set  out,  we  left  in  pairs  at 
intervals  of  hve  minutes.  Munroe  and  I  started  out  to- 
gether, and  here  began  for  me  one  of  the  worst  nights  I 
have  ever  experienced.  We  arrived  at  our  poste  at  Verdun 
all  right,  and  in  half  an  hour  we  went  on  toward  the 
Croix-de-Fer,  which  is  two  thirds  of  the  way  to  Bras,  to 
get  the  wounded  there.  I  started  back  before  Munroe 
was  ready,  with  five  wounded  in  my  machine.  Driving  on 
a  dark  night  over  a  narrow  road  full  of  shell-holes  with 
five  wounded  mortals  is  bad  enough,  but  when  In  ad- 
dition to  this  it  rains  pitchforks  and  lightning  flashes 
continually,  it  is  much  worse.  The  lightning  absolutely 
blinded  me  so  that  I  could  not  see  an  inch  of  the  road, 
while  all  the  time  passing  on  both  sides  of  me  were  great 
streams  of  infantry,  cavalry,  carts,  and  trucks;  conse- 
quently many  were  the  collisions  and  scrapings  that 
night.  We  were  never  allowed  to  use  our  horns,  and  would 
press  on  desperately  until,  hitting  some  one,  we  would 
back  up,  get  out  of  the  mess,  and  start  on  again. 

Finally,  I  reached  my  destination,  filled  my  car  with 
injured  soldiers,  and  started  back.  Nearing  Verdun  I 
missed  the  road  I  was  supposed  to  turn  in  on  and  lost  my 
way  entirely.  Lost  in  the  dead  of  night  between  Verdun 
and  the  trenches,  my  ambulance  full  of  wounded  men !  I 
was  desperate.  I  drove  my  car  back  and  forth,  in  and  out, 

329 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


in  great  confusion  of  mind,  into  all  sorts  of  places.  Fail- 
ing to  find  the  right  way,  I  at  last  gave  up  in  despair  and 
decided  to  wait  until  it  began  to  grow  a  little  lighter,  al- 
though I  knew  that  this  would  be  a  dangerous  thing  to  do. 
Then  I  thought  of  the  poor  fellows  in  my  car  and  decided 
I  must  devise  some  way  of  getting  them  back.  It  at  last 
occurred  to  me,  if  I  could  discover  the  railroad  station  in 
Verdun,  I  could,  since  I  knew  the  location  of  that  place, 
find  my  way  onto  the  road  I  usually  took.  This  I  decided 
to  do  even  though  it  was  quite  a  distance  out  of  the 
way;  and  after  inquiring  of  several  men  who  did  n't  seem 
to  understand  what  I  was  trying  to  get  at,  I  got  one  of 
the  less  injured  soldiers  in  my  ambulance  to  get  informa- 
tion in  French  from  one  of  them  and  in  turn  direct  me 
how  to  go.  In  this  way,  although  I  was  side-tracked  sev- 
eral times,  I  made  my  way  towards  the  railroad  station. 
Before  reaching  it,  however,  I  came,  by  accident,  upon 
the  old  familiar  road  and  made  my  way  straight  to  our 
poste.  When  I  arrived  there  I  was  in  a  state  of  nervous 
exhaustion. 

Wounded 

In  the  French  Military  Hospital,  Vadelaincoiirt 
About  four  o'clock  on  the  afternoon  of  June  30,  we  were 
all  seated  around  our  camp  when  we  heard  shells  dropping 
within  a  mile  of  us  and  learned  that  our  large  front  hos- 
pital was  being  shelled.  Our  work  was  to  carry  wounded 
from  this  hospital  to  one  farther  back,  which  was  not  so 
likely  to  be  shelled.  After  leaving  Vadelaincourt,  I  started 
out  for  Verdun  at  8.45,  and  at  10  o'clock  Dawson  and  I 
got  orders  to  go  to  Bras.  Before  we  started,  Dawson  said, 
"Barber,  if  we  get  into  very  thick  fire,  just  stop  and  we 
will  get  under  our  cars  and  wait  until  it  is  over."  I  agreed 
and  we  started  off.  The  night  was  very  cloudy  and  the 
darkness  was  intensified  by  the  heavy  overhanging  foli- 
age of  the  trees.  Everything  went  as  well  as  ever  at  first, 
and  I  arrived  at  Bras  before  Dawson.  I  loaded  three 
blesses  into  my  ambulance  and  started  back  to  \'erdun. 

330 


SECTION  THREE 


I  passed  Dawson's  car  not  far  out,  grimly  standing  by 
the  roadside  en  panne.  I  had  not  gone  far  from  Bras  when 
the  shelHng  became  very  heavy.  I  cHmbed  out  of  my  car, 
and  after  instructing  the  wounded  soldier  with  whom  I 
was  sharing  my  seat  to  get  under  the  car,  I  did  so  myself. 
We  stayed  there  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  until  shells  began 
to  explode  back  of  us,  and  I  thought  it  would  be  better  for 
us  to  jump  into  the  machine  and  make  a  dash  for  Verdun 
before  another  volley  of  shells  was  sent  ahead  of  us. 

I  got  out  from  under  the  car  and  walked  around  to  the 
front  of  it.  This,  however,  is  where  I  made  my  fatal  mis- 
take, for  no  sooner  had  I  left  the  protection  of  the  machine 
than  I  recognized  the  shrill  whistle  and  swish  of  what 
seemed  to  me  to  be  the  largest  ohus  that  I  had  ever  heard. 
The  loudness  of  the  noise  was  probably  caused  by  the 
nearness  of  the  shell.  I  had  stooped  in  front  of  the  car's 
radiator  to  gain  its  protection  and  when  the  shell  exploded, 
I  saw  for  an  instant  a  great  band  of  flame  around  my 
stomach  and  for  the  moment  I  thought  surely  the  end 
had  come.  I  noticed  that  my  car  was  ruined.  The  rear 
was  completely  demolished  and  every  one  of  my  three 
wounded  men  killed.  Recovering  a  little  from  my  dazed 
condition,  I  distinctly  remember  trying  out  my  various 
faculties.  I  found  out  that  I  could  still  breathe,  with 
difihculty,  however,  for  every  respiration  hurt  my  lungs; 
I  tried  to  walk  and  succeeded,  with  pain,  however;  I  could 
see  with  both  eyes  and  could  swallow,  and  I  still  had  my 
two  arms. 

At  this  point  I  began  to  feel  a  sharp,  stinging  sensation 
all  over  my  body,  became  very  weak  and  could  only 
stagger  along.  I  was  in  great  pain.  It  was  agony  to  breathe. 
My  legs  and  back  hurt,  and  I  reasoned  out  that  I  must 
have  been  struck  by  pieces  of  shell  in  numerous  parts  of 
my  body.  I  struggled  along  a  few  yards  on  the  road  and 
then  fell  prostrate.  I  thought  if  I  could  only  get  back  to 
Verdun  some  way,  I  could  be  fixed  up.  As  I  lay  there  on 
the  road  helpless,  it  occurred  to  me  that  when  the  next 
ambulance  came  along  I  could  call  out  the  name  of  one 

331 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


of  the  drivers,  get  in  an  English  word  or  two,  and  perhaps 
thus  attract  his  attention.  In  about  fifteen  minutes  one 
loomed  in  sight,  coming  down  the  road  with  great  speed, 
whereupon  I  yelled  out  the  first  name  I  thought  of,  that 
of  a  boy  in  our  Section,  "Tison,  Tison!"  The  scheme 
worked,  and  although  Wheeler  was  driving  he  pulled  up 
with  ''What's  the  matter  here?"  A  soldier  whom  I  had 
spoken  to  explained  to  Wheeler  the  situation,  and  I  called 
to  him  from  the  other  side  of  the  road  where  I  lay  under 
a  soup  cart.  When  he  found  out  that  I  was  hurt,  he 
jumped  out  of  his  car  and  helped  me  over  to  it.  The 
shelling  was  continuing  very  heavily,  and  I  thought  we 
had  better  get  under  his  car  until  it  subsided  a  bit.  We 
stayed  under  the  car  for  a  few  minutes,  but  Wheeler 
finally  dragged  me  out  and  placed  me  on  the  floor  of  the 
front  seat  of  his  ambulance.  He  was  already  sharing  his 
seat  with  one  wounded  soldier,  and  another  fellow,  who 
was  eager  to  be  taken  back  to  Verdun,  climbed  onto  the 
car,  too.  Wheeler  told  him  to  get  off,  but  he  insisted  that 
he  would  be  needed  to  hold  me  on,  which  he  did  all  the 
way  back.  This  made  seven  in  the  car  already,  and  in  the 
excitement  of  the  moment  another  had  jumped  onto  the 
other  side  of  the  machine.  In  a  hurry  to  get  me  to  Verdun, 
Wheeler  with  his  load  went  at  top  speed  over  a  dark, 
muddy,  thickly  travelled  road.  It  was  a  masterpiece  of 
driving.  I  was  by  this  time  very  weak;  but  we  had  come 
upon  Bluethenthal,^  who  gave  me  water  from  his  canteen, 
which  revived  me  somewhat.  Wheeler,  intent  upon  get- 
ting me  to  Verdun  as  quickly  as  possible,  got  out  of  his 
car  at  the  bridge  over  the  canal,  ran  across,  and  succeeded 
in  getting  some  passing  troops  to  stop  long  enough  for 
us  to  go  over,  so  that  we  finally  got  through  the  gates 
of  Verdun  and  drew  up  at  our  poste.  There  I  was  taken 
in,  injected  for  lockjaw  and  my  wounds  bound  up  a  bit, 

1  Arthur  Bluethenthal,  of  Wilmington,  North  Carolina;  Princeton,  '13; 
joined  the  Field  Service  in  May,  1916,  serving  with  Section  Three  in 
France  and  Salonica  until  May,  191 7,  when  he  entered  the  French  Aviation 
Service;  he  was  killed  in  July,  1918,  at  the  front,  when  his  machine  was 
shot  down  in  flames. 


SECTION  THREE 


when  it  was  found  that  I  was  hurt  in  over  twenty-five 
places.  Later  at  the  Vadelaincourt  Hospital  I  was  laid 
on  the  operating-table  and  chloroformed,  which  was  all  I 
knew  until  I  awoke  the  next  morning,  bound  up  in  band- 
ages, in  a  long  room  with  a  row  of  cots  on  each  side. 

In  the  Hospital 

Then  followed  three  or  four  of  the  most  uncomfortable 
days  I  have  ever  spent.  I  was  comfortable  in  no  position, 
my  body  paining  me  on  all  sides,  and  the  ringing  in  my  ears 
continuing.  For  three  days  I  was  not  allow^ed  to  eat  or 
drink.  Some  French  officers  came  into  the  hospital  a  few 
days  later,  inquired  for  me,  came  up  to  my  bed,  said  a 
lot  in  French  which  I  did  not  understand;  this  much, 
however,  I  did  get:  '*  In  the  name  of  the  French  Republic, 
we  have  the  honor  to  confer  upon  you,  as  a  reward  for 
your  services,  the  Medaille Militaire''  —  which  they  then 
and  there  pinned  on  my  nightshirt,  shook  hands  with  me, 
and  departed.  This  was  quite  a  compliment,  although  I 
could  not  feel  that  I  deserved  such  a  distinction,  since  I 
had  done  no  more  than  the  other  boys.  Some  of  them 
came  in  to  see  me  every  day,  and  General  Petain,  com- 
mander of  the  army  of  Verdun,  visited  the  ward  and 
shook  hands  with  me. 

At  my  second  operation  the  surgeon  took  out  of  me  a 
piece  of  my  Ford  radiator  as  big  as  the  end  of  my  middle 
finger.  My  radiator  always  had  given  me  trouble !  Some 
of  the  boys  who  came  to  see  me  brought  with  them  a 
handful  of  shots  which  they  had  taken  out  of  my  car  the 
day  after  I  was  wounded,  and  said  they  could  have 
brought  me  a  basketful.  Every  once  in  a  while,  little 
pieces  of  shell  would  be  removed  from  my  body,  but  I 
had  no  more  serious  operations. 

The  ambulance  I  had  been  driving  was  given  by  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Allston  Burr,  of  Chestnut  Hill,  Massachusetts, 
in  memory  of  their  nephew,  Francis  Hardon  Burr,  and  as 
soon  as  they  learned  that  it  had  been  demolished,  they 
immediately  replaced  it  by  a  new  one. 

333 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


When  I  began  looking  around  me  in  the  hospital,  I 
recognized  several  blesses  whom  I  had  carried  in  my 
ambulance  on  previous  days.  I  spent  a  peculiar  Fourth  of 
July,  the  only  feature  of  it  for  me  being  a  small  American 
flag  which  my  nurse  gave  me  and  which  I  stuck  on  the 
wall  by  my  bed.  In  the  evening,  an  American  from  Sec- 
tion Four  came  in  to  see  me  and  brought  me  a  bottle  of 
champagne  and  a  sack  of  apricots.  He  was  the  cheeriest 
fellow  I  ever  met,  and  though  he  stayed  but  five  minutes 
with  me,  the  spirit  he  put  into  me  remained  with  me  for 
the  rest  of  the  night.  Balsley,  the  American  aviator  who 
was  seriously  injured  in  his  encounter  with  three  German 
airplanes  at  once,  w^as  in  the  same  hospital.  He  wrote  me 
a  very  friendly  note  and  sent  me  some  of  his  magazines 
to  read,  and  I  sent  him  in  return  a  London  newspaper 
giving  details  of  his  own  experiences  and  those  of  Chap- 
man, who  was  on  his  way  to  get  oranges  for  Balsley  when 
he  was  killed  by  a  German  shell.  I  had  not  been  long  in 
the  hospital  at  Vadelaincourt  before  the  Section,  in  which 
I  had  been,  moved  back  to  Ligny,  and  though  I  missed 
their  coming  in  to  see  me,  I  was  glad  for  their  sakes  that  the 
dangerous  part  of  their  work  was  over  for  a  while  at  least. 

William  M.  Barber^ 


'  Of  Toledo,  Ohio;  Oberlin,  '19;  left  college  May,  19 16,  for  ambulance 
work  in  France;  was  severely  wounded  during  his  first  month  at  the  front 
and  invalided  home;  received  the  Medaille  Militaire.  In  1918  became  an 
aspirant  in  French  artillery. 


VIII 

Verdun  Days  and  Nights 

June  22,  1916 
Twelve  of  our  men  were  out  last  night  on  the  Bras  serv- 
ice and  struck  the  edge  of  a  gas  attack.  One  of  them 
gave  me  a  cigarette  this  morning  from  the  case  he  had 
carried,  but  it  reeked  so  of  gas  that  I  could  n't  smoke  it. 
The  air  here  was  tainted  with  gas  all  the  morning,  but 
whether  from  the  patients  or  from  the  occasional  shell 
that  struck  in  the  woods  above,  I  could  not  tell.  The  gas 
patients  are  in  a  terrible  state,  those  less  affected  cough- 
ing and  choking  continually;  but  the  others  are  far  be- 
yond that.  Two  of  us  took  the  less  desperate  cases  on  to 
the  evacuation  camp  at  Queue-de-Mala;  the  others  went 
down  the  hill  on  stretchers  —  uncovered,  for  treatment 
—  with  blanketed  face,  for  burial.  After  twelve  hours' 
work  and  about  ten  trips  apiece,  we  came  in  for  supper, 
utterly  unrecognizable  in  our  masks  of  dust. 

Bras,  June  30 
During  the  shelling  of  the  road  last  night,  I  found  my- 
self repeating  the  chorus  we  had  sung  those  long  months 
ago  in  Mirecourt: 

'^Hardis,  mes  gars!  Cest  pour  la  France.'' 

We  shall  have  only  one  night  more  here.  As  I  waited 
for  my  last  load,  sitting  on  the  end  of  the  sandbag  wall, 
I  looked  about  me.  A  pace  inside  the  doorvvay  rose  the 
piled  debris  and  wreckage  of  the  house,  and  above  it  a 
weird  perspective  of  broken  beams  and  masonry  against 
the  morning  stars.  I  wondered  if  I  should  ever  return  to 
walk  in  safety  up  these  dark  hills  of  fear.  We  are  leaving 
to-morrow,  and  very  soon  I  am  leaving  France  —  leaving 
it  with  a  fading  memory  of  things  unreal,  and  with  a  great 
gladness  that  in  some  slight  way  I  have  been  able  to 

335 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


bring  a  message  of  sympathy  to  her  in  her  time  of  agony 
and  travail. 

^^Hardis,  mes  gars  I  Cest  pour  la  France^ 

Walter  Kerr  Rainsford  ^ 

Verdtin,  June,  191 6 
It  is  an  extraordinary  and  exhilarating  feeling  to  be 
actually  taking  part  in  the  greatest  battle  of  history,  in 
a  front-row  seat,  so  to  speak.  Those  who  declare  that 
there  is  nothing  picturesque  about  modern  warfare  are 
all  off.  It  is  gorgeous. 

July  10 
Our  run  from  Verdun  to  Bras  was  over  a  road  which  was 
shelled  intermittently  every  night.  Looking  back  on  those 
ten  days  (we  are  now  en  repos) ,  I  feel  that  it  was  perfectly 
miraculous  our  getting  away  with  only  one  man  badly 
wounded.  Half  the  cars  have  holes  in  them  from  eclats^ 
two  or  three  men  were  grazed  by  shrapnel,  and  one  bullet 
actually  lodged  in  Waldo  Peirce's  pocket-book  in  the 
most  approved  melodramatic  manner. 

The  night  after  our  arrival,  the  Germans  launched  a 
gas  attack,  which  is  about  the  most  unpleasant  thing 
imaginable.  Fortunately,  we  had  been  equipped  with  gas- 
masks that  really  fitted  and  which  were  entirely  effective ; 
but  it  was  impossible  to  see  through  them  clearly  enough 
to  drive  a  car,  so  that  when  actually  on  the  road  we  had 
to  go  without  them.  Most  of  the  gas  was  of  the  ''lacrimo- 
gene''  variety,  w^hich  merely  makes  your  eyes  run  and 
your  throat  sting ;  but  out  toward  Bras  one  got  a  whiff 
of  the  chlorine,  which  is  fearful.  Many  of  those  whom  we 
brought  in  overcome  died  soon  after  in  horrible  agony. 
We  all  noticed,  as  a  curious  after-effect  of  the  gas,  that 
for  days  afterwards  cigarettes  tasted  like  the  most  hor- 
rible sulphur  fumes,  and  all  liquor  like  powerful  acid. 

It  is  really  an  extraordinary  experience  to  be  right  in 

^  The  above  is  from  Mr.  Rainsford's  diary. 


SECTION  THREE 


the  thick  of  the  most  acute  stage  of  this  terrific  battle, 
where,  second  only  to  the  wonderful  fortitude  of  the 
French  wounded,  who  are  always  magnificent,  is  the 
really  heroic  behavior  of  the  brancardierSj  who  crawl  out 
between  the  lines  and  carry  in  wounded  on  their  backs. 
To  me  it  seems  that  their  work  requires  more  real  courage 
than  any  other  branch  of  the  service. 

Charles  R.  Codman,  Jr.i 


*  Of  Boston;  Harvard,  '15;  member  of  the  Field  Service  from  March, 
1915;  subsequently  entered  the  U.S.  Aviation  Service  and  was  taken  pris- 
oner. These  extracts  are  from  home  letters. 


IX 

En  Repos  after  Verdun 

July  3,  1916 
We  are  back,  far  back  of  the  lines,  en  repos,  with  the  tat- 
tered remains  of  our  French  division.  We  have  just  come 
back  from  two  weeks  at  Verdun  and  our  cars  are  battered 
and  broken  beyond  a  year's  ordinary  service.  It  began 
strong.  The  first  night  I  was  off  duty  and  missed  out  on 
one  disagreeable  experience  —  a  gas  attack.  One  has  to 
breathe  through  a  little  bag  affair  packed  with  layers  of 
cloth  and  chemicals!  The  eyes  are  also  protected  with 
tight-fitting  isinglass,  which  mists  over  and  makes  driv- 
ing difhcult.  The  road  was  not  shelled  that  night,  so 
things  might  have  been  worse. 

The  second  night  was  my  go.  We  rolled  all  night  from 
the  poste  de  secours  back  to  the  first  sorting-station.  The 
poste  was  in  a  little  town  with  the  Germans  on  three  sides 
of  the  road  and  all  in  full  view  of  them,  which  made  day- 
light going  impossible.  The  day  work  was  evacuating 
from  sorting-stations  to  field  hospitals.  There  our  work 
stopped,  English  and  French  sections  worked  from  there 
back  to  the  base  hospitals.  The  road  ran  out  through 
fields  and  a  little  stretch  of  woods,  with  French  batteries 
situated  on  both  sides  the  entire  way,  which  drew  the  fire. 
Four  trips  between  dusk  and  dawn  were  the  most  pos- 
sible. The  noise  of  French  fire  was  terrifying  until  we 
learned  to  distinguish  it  from  the  German  arrivees.  It  is 
important  to  know  the  difference,  and  one  soon  learns. 
The  depart  is  a  sharp  bark  and  then  the  whistle  diminish- 
ing. The  arrivees  come  in  with  a  slower,  increasing  whistle 
and  ripping  crash.  In  noise  alone  it  is  more  than  disagree- 
able. The  poste  de  secours  was  an  ahri  in  a  cellar. 

Of  the  town  there  was  scarcely  a  wall  standing  —  mar- 
mites  had  done  their  work  well.  The  road  was  an  open 

338 


SECTION  THREE 


space  between,  scalloped  and  scooped  like  the  moon  in 
miniature.  We  would  drive  up,  crawling  in  and  out  of 
these  holes,  turn  around,  get  our  load,  and  go.  When  the 
place  was  shelled,  we  had  time  to  hear  the  ohiis  coming 
and  dive  under  our  cars.  The  drive  back  was  harrowing. 
One  was  sure  to  go  a  little  too  fast  on  a  stretch  of  road 
that  felt  smooth  and  then  pitch  into  a  hole,  all  but  break- 
ing every  spring  on  the  body.  I  '11  never  forget  the  screams 
of  the  wounded  as  they  got  rocked  about  inside.  At  times 
a  stretcher  w^ould  break  and  we  would  have  to  go  on  as  it 
was.  Of  course  we  had  to  drive  in  utter  darkness,  with 
passing  convois  of  artillery  at  a  full  gallop  going  in  oppo- 
site directions  on  either  side.  Each  night  a  bit  more  of 
tool  box  or  mud-guard  would  be  taken  off.  Often  I  found 
myself  in  a  wedge  where  I  had  to  back  and  go  forward 
until  a  little  hole  was  found  to  skip  through,  and  then 
make  a  dash  for  it  and  take  a  chance.  One  night  there  was 
a  thunderstorm  with  vivid  lightning  and  pitch  darkness. 
The  flashes  of  guns  and  of  lightning  were  as  one,  and  the 
noise  terrific.  That  night,  too,  the  road  was  crowded  with 
ammunition  wagons.  But  worst  of  all,  it  was  under  shell- 
fire  in  three  places  so  that  traffic  became  demoralized 
because  of  the  dead  horses  and  wrecked  wagons  smashed 
up  by  shrapnel.  All  our  cars  were  held  up  in  parts  of  this 
road.  There  is  no  feeling  of  more  utter  helplessness  than 
being  jammed  in  between  cannon  and  caissons  in  a  road 
under  shell-fire.  In  order  to  get  through,  two  of  the  men 
had  to  run  ahead  and  cut  loose  dead  horses ;  but  no  one 
was  hit  that  night. 

The  next  night  was  the  climax  of  danger,  as  things 
eased  off  a  bit  after;  but  the  strain  was  telling  and  our 
driving  was  not  so  skilful.  For  instance,  next  to  the  last 
night  I  collided  with  a  huge  ravitaillement  wagon  coming 
at  full  gallop  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  road,  with  the  result 
that  the  entire  front  of  my  car  went  into  bow  knots.  But 
I  landed  clear  in  safety.  This  occurred  under  the  lee  of  a 
cliff,  so  we  went  in  search  with  a  wrecking-car  the  next 
day.  After  twenty  hours  my  car  was  running  again,  shaky 

339 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


on  her  wheels,  but  strong  in  engine.  She  goes  to  Paris  soon 
for  shop  repairs.  Poor  old  Alice!  A  wrecked  car  in  so  short 
a  time !  Patched  with  string  and  wire  and  straps,  she  looks 
battle-scarred  to  a  degree.  Her  real  battle  souvenirs  are 
five  shrapnel  balls  embedded  in  the  roof  and  sides.  I  don't 
believe  in  collecting  souvenirs,  but  these  I  could  not  help 
preserving ! 

There  were  humorous  incidents;  that  is,  humorous 
when  we  look  back  on  them  safely  in  camp.  One  goes  as 
follows :  Three  cars  running  out  to  the  poste  about  thirty 
yards  apart.  The  whistle  of  shells  and  a  great  increase  in 
speed  in  the  cars.  (Somehow  speed  seems  to  give  the  feel- 
ing of  more  security.)  Road  getting  too  hot  —  shells 
falling  between  the  cars  as  they  run.  First  car  stopped 
short  and  driver  jumped  about  thirty  feet  into  a  trench 
by  the  roadside.  Landed  in  six  inches  of  water  and  stayed. 
Car  No.  2  stopped,  but  not  short  enough  to  prevent 
smashing  into  tail-board  of  No.  i.  Driver  made  jump  and 
splash  No.  2  into  trench.  Ditto  for  car  No.  3  (me).  Whistle 
and  bang  of  shells,  crash  of  hitting  cars,  and  splash  of 
falling  men  in  water.  Here  we  remained  until  the  "storm 
blew  over." 

I  am  mighty  glad  we  are  through  and  out  of  it  all. 
Whatever  action  we  go  into  again,  it  cannot  be  harder 
or  more  dangerous  than  w^hat  we  have  been  through.  That 
will  be  impossible.  I  don't  yet  know  whether  I  am  glad  or 
not  to  have  had  such  an  experience.  It  was  all  so  gigantic 
and  terrifying.  It  was  war  in  its  worst  butchery.  We  all 
of  us  lost  weight,  but  health  and  morale  are  O.K.,  and  we 
are  ready  for  more  work  after  a  rest. 

Edward  I.  Tinkham^ 


^  Of  Montclair,  New  Jersey;  Cornell,  '17;  served  in  Sections  Three  and 
Four,  and  commanded  in  1917  the  first  Motor  Transport  Section  sent  out  by 
the  Field  Service;  subsequently  entered  naval  aviation,  in  which  service  he 
died  in  Ravenna,  Italy,  March  30,  1919. 


II.  In  the  Orient 


Tout  vient  vers  elle  et  tout  en  part; 
Elle  est  le  progres,  elle  est  I'art, 
Sol  qui  produit,  peuple  qui  pense. 
Gloire  a  la  France! 

Paul  Deroul^de 


I 


En  Route  to  the  Orient 


October  25,  1916 
To-day  will  be  our  fifth  day  at  sea.  We  left  Marseilles  on 
Saturday  in  a  strong  mistral,  and  packed  our  bags  and 
blanket-rolls  in  our  bunks  down  in  the  hold  along  with  a 
great  number  of  Indo-Chinamen.  We  were  on  the  lowest 
deck.  The  bunks  were  in  tiers  of  two  and  squares  of  eight, 
merely  steel  or  tin  braces  like  those  of  a  strawberry  crate. 
We  stayed  there  till  five  o'clock  when  Lovering  Hill  made 
arrangements  to  move  us  up  a  deck  nearer  the  open  air. 
We  moved.  The  Chinamen  moved  down  at  the  same  time. 
Such  confusion!  These  Chinese  are  so  small  and  yellow 
that  you  cannot  tell  them  from  their  khaki  packs.  They 
bumped  us  and  jabbered  like  monkeys.  We  bumped  them 
and  cursed.  They  continued  jabbering.  Their  talk  is  a 
funny,  monkeyish  twang.  At  about  6.30  that  night  we 
were  fed  on  the  deck,  although  we  looked  longingly  at 
the  ofificers'  mess-room.  It  got  dark  early,  and  we  retired 
early.  Luckily  Hill  gave  me  a  chance  to  sleep  on  the  floor 
of  his  cabin,  so  I  did  n't  have  to  go  below.  Some  of  the 
fellows  slept  on  the  floor  of  what  was  once  the  smoking- 

341 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


room  on  this  ship.  I  saw  George  Hollister  ^  that  night  tuck 
himself  away  in  an  upper  bunk  way  back  in  the  dark 
against  the  side  of  the  boat.  Hill  made  arrangements  to 
have  us  eat  in  the  officers'  mess  twice  a  day,  which  is 
enough.  Then  he  arranged  to  have  us  all  sleep  in  the 
smoking-room.  Since  then  we  have  been  comfortable. 

If  you  never  have  travelled  on  a  real  transport,  I  may 
tell  you  in  passing  that  you  are  better  off  where  you  are. 
First  of  all,  every  one  is  packed  in  as  we  were  the  first 
night;  the  deck  space  is  filled  with  cargo,  and  men  occupy 
the  upper  deck  in  great  numbers.  Rancid  smells  come 
up  from  below,  for  the  sewerage  system  is  not  working. 
The  sanitary  arrangements  aft,  where  most  of  the  Indo- 
Chinks  are,  were  put  out  of  commission  the  first  night; 
so  nobody  with  a  keen  sense  of  smell  can  go  near  there. 
Food  is  being  cooked  all  the  time;  and  a  stuffy  breeze 
comes  up  from  the  kitchen,  which  is  on  the  main  deck 
amidships.  The  calf  and  the  pig  aboard  are  dirty,  and 
their  companions,  some  horses  and  cows,  are  not  things 
of  beauty  either. 

October  27 
Yesterday  we  were  developed  into  mariners.  The  com- 
mander of  the  ship  got  us  all  to  stand  watch,  as  we  were 
in  dangerous  waters  all  day  and  night.  We  had  posts 
during  the  day  at  the  bow,  on  deck  below  the  bridge, 
amidships  on  the  same  deck,  on  the  bridge,  and  at  the 
stern.  From  1.40  until  5.40  Fenton  and  I  were  on  duty 
up  at  the  bow,  when  I  looked  so  hard  for  periscopes  or 
mines  that  I  saw  all  sorts  of  things.  Finally  at  four  o'clock 
we  saw  land  way  off  in  the  distance.  Due  to  our  zigzag- 
ging, it  was  on  the  port  side  one  minute,  straight  ahead 
the  next,  and  on  the  starboard  side  the  next.  Then  we 
saw  islands  across  our  bow  —  low-lying  objects  hardly 

^  George  Merrick  Hollister,  of  Grand  Rapids,  Michigan;  Harvard,  '18; 
served  with  Section  Three  from  February,  1916,  to  May,  1917;  he  later 
became  a  Second  Lieutenant  in  the  United  States  Infantry;  killed  in  action 
October,  19 18. 


SECTION  THREE 


distinguishable  from  clouds.  We  were  finally  relieved  by 
some  Frenchmen. 

At  eight  o'clock  I  went  on  watch  at  the  stern  till  1 1  p.m., 
when  George  Hollister  replaced  me,  and  he  stayed  on 
till  2  A.M.,  when  he  was  relieved.  All  this  time,  up  to  eight 
this  morning,  our  Section  was  on  watch  along  with  the 
regular  crew.  It  was  strange,  to  say  the  least,  to  see  an 
amhiilancier  pacing  the  bridge  along  with  the  captain. 

At  night  we  passed  many  lights,  on  shore  no  doubt. 
There  was  a  boat,  however,  which  passed,  that  flashed 
"phoney"  signals,  which  we  did  n't  answer.  The  captain 
was  excited  and  did  not  breathe  easy  for  a  long  time. 
During  my  watch  from  eight  to  eleven  a  dead  "Chink" 
was  heaved  overboard  in  a  box.  That  makes  two. 

October  28 
I  WENT  on  watch  at  two  last  night  on  the  bridge  with 
George  Hollister.  We  were  relieved  at  five  o'clock.  We 
followed  along  a  mountainous  shore  all  night.  Warships 
signalled  us  at  times,  and  a  torpedo  boat  came  up  behind 
us.  It  looked  for  all  the  world  like  a  submarine,  but  no  one 
on  the  bridge  got  excited  about  it.  The  morning  star  came 
up  about  3.30.  It  looked  like  a  fusee  eclair  ante  at  the 
front.  I  never  saw  a  bigger  or  more  beautiful  star.  It  was 
still  dark  when  we  were  relieved.  George  went  to  bed, 
but  I  stayed  up  on  the  bridge  to  watch  the  dawn  come. 
Off  to  the  right  the  sky  brightened  and  turned  a  very 
brilliant  red.  Low  land  was  silhouetted  against  it.  On  our 
left  two  snow-tipped  mountain-peaks  glistened  in  the 
light.  The  low^er  sides  of  the  mountains  were  purplish  and 
brown.  A  few  white  houses  showed  themselves. 

Charles  Baird,  Jr.^ 


*  Of  New  York  City;  Harvard,  '11;  entered  the  Service  in  July,  1916,  and 
served  in  Sections  Two  and  Three  ;  subsequently  became  a  First  Lieuten- 
ant and  later  a  Captain  in  the  United  States  Field  Artillery.  The  above 
are  extracts  from  Mr.  Baird's  home  letters. 


II 

Salonica 

En  route  to  the  Balkans,  we  arrived  in  the  harbor  of 
Salonica  on  the  morning  of  October  28,  191 6,  and  dis- 
embarked on  the  evening  of  the  following  day.  The  port 
and  town  were  the  scene  of  great  activity,  and  were  very 
picturesque  with  the  presence  of  natives  from  almost 
every  country  under  the  sun,  and  the  streets  packed  with 
strange  costumes.  The  town,  I  noted,  has  its  walls  still 
standing,  with  a  sort  of  fortress  above  it;  a  Turkish 
quarter,  which  looks  very  pretty  from  the  sea,  with  its 
heaps  of  little  wooden  houses  painted  blue,  rising  one 
above  the  other;  and  plenty  of  minarets,  very  white  in 
the  early  sunshine,  and  very  lovely  to  our  ocean-weary 
eyes. 

There  were  a  few  cases  of  spinal  meningitis  among  the 
native  troops  on  board  our  ship,  and  at  first  it  was  a 
question  of  being  quarantined  with  said  fellow  travellers. 
So  the  Lieutenant  in  command  of  the  troops  and  I  imme- 
diately began  trying  to  arrange  our  cantonment  in  the 
Camp  des  Orientaux,  where  the  proposed  internment  was 
to  take  place.  Fortunately,  however,  at  lunch-time  the 
decree  was  revoked,  and  we  were  ordered  to  join  our  serv- 
ice at  the  Pare  de  Reserve,  where  we  would  be  quartered. 

Arrived  there,  we  found  that  no  one  had  ever  heard  of 
us,  that  there  was  no  place  to  lodge  us,  and  that  it  was 
impossible  to  feed  us.  So  I  let  every  one  shift  for  himself 
for  dinner,  and  those  of  us  who  could  n't  find  room,  slept 
out  in  an  open  lot.  Fortunately  the  weather  continued 
fine,  and  the  next  morning  we  got  three  Marabout  tents 
Vv'hich  we  pitched  at  once;  just  in  time,  in  fact,  for  it 
started  to  pour  as  the  last  one  went  up.  In  this  matter  of 
weather,  by  the  way,  we  had  the  most  astounding  good 
luck.  Even  the  sea  was  as  smooth  as  a  pond  during  the 

344 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


whole  voyage.  I  don't  know  what  we  should  have  done  on 
board  if  it  had  been  otherwise,  for  living  between  decks 
was  out  of  the  question  on  account  of  the  native  troops. 

LovERiNG  Hill  ^ 


*  Of  New  York  City;  Harvard,  'lo;  entered  the  Field  Service  in  Novem- 
ber, 1 9 14,  where  he  became  Section  Commander,  and  in  191 7  a  Captain 
in  the  United  States  Field  Artillery. 


^„^  ^Ut^J^ 


Ill 

Into  the  Balkans 

The  first  flicker  of  dawn  was  showing  as  we  wound  our 
way  down  through  the  outlying  parts  of  Salonica,  a  sin- 
uous Hne  of  ambulances  and  auxiliary  cars.  On  the  water 
front  the  convoy  halted  for  final  adjustment.  The  fore- 
glow,  coming  across  the  harbor,  filtered  through  the  spars 
of  the  shipping  and  gave  promise  of  a  clear  day.  A  few 
early  porters  and  rugged  stevedores  paused  to  gaze  won- 
deringly  upon  us.  The  CO.  passed  down  the  line  to  see  if 
all  were  ready;  the  w^histle  sounded  and  we  were  off. 

Passing  through  the  already  livening  streets  we  paral- 
leled the  quay,  turned  toward  the  northwest  and  then, 
as  the  muezzins  in  the  minarets  were  calling  upon  the 
faithful  to  greet  the  rising  sun,  entered  upon  the  great 
caravan  trail  which  runs  back  into  the  mountains,  and 
Allah  knows  where.  Past  trains  of  little  mountain  ponies, 
laden  with  hides;  past  lumbering,  solid-wheeled  wagons, 
drawn  by  water  buffaloes  and  piled  high  with  roughly 
baled  tobacco,  tobacco  from  which  are  made  some  of  the 
choicest  Turkish  cigarettes  in  the  world ;  past  other  wag- 
ons with  towering  piles  of  coarse  native  matting;  past 
the  herdsman  and  his  flock,  his  ballet  skirt  blowing  in  the 
morning  breeze ;  past  the  solemn  Turk,  mounted  athwart 
his  drooping  burro,  his  veiled  woman  trudging  behind. 
The  city  lay  behind  us  now ;  the  passers-by  became  fewer, 
until  only  an  occasional  wayfarer  and  his  burro  were 
sighted.  The  road,  pitted  and  gutted,  stretched  away 
through  a  barren,  dreary  country.  The  sun's  early  promise 
had  not  been  fulfilled  and  a  gray,  slaty  day  emphasized 
the  dreariness  of  the  landscape.  To  our  right  bleak  moun- 
tains rose  to  meet  a  slaty  sky  —  nowhere  appeared  tree 
or  shrub,  not  even  a  fence  broke  the  monotony  of  the 
landscape,  never  a  house,  not  even  a  road,  though  occa- 

346 


SECTION  THREE 


sionally  a  muddy  track  wandered  aimlessly  through  the 
waste.  We  rounded  the  mountains  and  crossed  a  sluggish 
stream,  the  Galiko.  Once  we  saw  a  village  far  away,  its 
white  minarets  rising  above  the  dull  gray  of  the  ensemble. 
Then  the  desolation  closed  down.  Farther  on,  over  a 
shaky  wooden  bridge,  we  crossed  the  Vardar,  the  Axius 
of  Virgil.  Hereabouts  the  country  was  flat  and  swampy, 
but  suddenly  it  changed ;  scattered  trees  began  to  appear, 
here  and  there  rocks  jutted  out.  The  trail  began  to  mount 
and  presently  as  we  twisted  our  way  through  the  first 
settlement,  the  village  of  Yenidze,  mountains  came  into 
view  to  the  northeast  and  then  moved  toward  the  south 
and  west.  About  eleven  w^e  sighted  some  whitewashed 
houses  clinging  to  the  side  of  a  cliff,  the  overflow  of  the 
town  of  Vodena  through  which  we  presently  passed  over 
a  winding  road  of  mountainous  steepness;  up  we  went, 
three  hundred,  four  hundred  metres,  finally  stopping 
where  a  fountain  gushed  from  the  roadside,  a  kilometre 
or  so  beyond  the  town. 

We  were  in  the  heart  of  the  hills  now.  On  three  sides  of 
us  the  mountains  rose  to  a  height  of  six  thousand  feet  or 
more.  Their  tops  were  covered  with  snow,  and  from  this 
time  on  we  were  never  to  lose  sight  of  it. 

Some  biscuits,  ham,  and  chocolate  found  a  good  home 
and  there  was  time  for  a  couple  of  pipes  before  the  whistle 
blew  and  we  again  cast  off.  And  now  our  troubles  began. 
Up  to  this  time  our  way  could  at  least  lay  claim  to  the 
name  "road,"  but  now  even  an  attorney,  working  on  a 
percentage  basis,  could  establish  no  such  identity  for 
the  straggling  gully  through  which  we  struggled  —  some- 
times a  heap  of  boulders,  sometimes  a  mire,  but  always 
it  climbed.  The  cars  coughed  and  grunted  and  often  we 
were  forced  to  halt  while  the  motors  cooled.  In  mid-after- 
noon the  rain,  which  had  been  threatening  for  some  hours, 
set  in  and  the  ground  quickly  assumed  the  consistency  of 
sticky  paste,  through  which  we  sloughed  our  way.  About 
four  we  spoke  the  Lake  of  Ostrovo  and  shortly  afterwards 
passed  through  the  straggling  village  of  the  same  name. 

347 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Deep  sand  here  made  the  going  hard,  but  we  soon  left 
the  shores  of  the  lake  and  again  headed  straight  into  the 
mountains.  So  far  as  possible  the  trail  held  to  the  passes, 
but  even  so,  the  ascent  was  very  great.  As  night  fell  we 
came  to  an  especially  steep  stretch  slanting  up  between 
snow-covered  mountains.  From  a  little  distance  it  looked 
as  though  some  one,  tiring  of  road-building,  had  leaned 
the  unfinished  product  up  against  a  mountain-side.  Time 
and  again  we  charged,  but  without  avail;  no  engine  built 
could  take  that  grade.  Physics  books  tell  us,  "that  which 
causes  or  tends  to  cause  a  body  to  pass  from  a  state  of 
rest  to  one  of  motion  is  known  as  Force."  With  twenty 
men  to  a  car,  pulling,  pushing  and  dragging,  we  assumed 
the  function  of  "force"  and  "caused  a  body"  —  the  cars 
— to  "pass  from  a  state  of  rest  to  one  of  motion,"  hoist- 
ing them  by  main  strength  over  the  crest. 

Night  had  shut  down  for  some  hours  when  the  last  car 
had  topped  the  rise.  A  bone-chilling  wind  had  swept  down 
from  the  snow,  the  rain  still  fell.  The  lights  were  switched 
on,  and  over  a  trail,  flanked  on  one  side  by  a  towering 
cliff  and  on  the  other  by  a  black  chasm  of  nothingness, 
we  kept  on.  Once  we  rounded  a  sharp  curve,  there  was  a 
sudden  dip  in  the  trail  and  in  the  darkness  we  almost 
shot  off  into  the  space  below. 

It  still  lacked  some  two  hours  of  midnight  when  ahead 
we  discerned  a  few  flickering  lights.  The  Lieutenant  gave 
the  signal  and  we  came  to  a  stop  at  the  fringe  of  a  miser- 
able village.  We  had  been  sixteen  hours  at  the  wheel  but 
had  covered  no  more  than  one  hundred  and  fifty  kilo- 
metres. We  were  all  cold  and  hungry,  but  the  soup  bat- 
tery was  mired  somewhere  miles  in  the  rear.  Our  lanterns 
showed  us  but  a  few  stone  hovels.  Had  we  known  more 
of  the  Balkans,  we  should  not  even  have  thought  of  find- 
ing a  shop.  We  gave  up  thoughts  of  dinner,  crawled  within 
our  cars,  and,  wrapping  our  great  coats  about  us,  sought 
to  dream  of  "a  cleaner,  greener  land." 

The  tramping  of  many  feet  and  the  sobbing  of  a  man 
woke  me  next  morning.  I  looked  out  to  see  a  column  of 

348 


SECTION  THREE 


Russian  infantry  passing.  One  big  fellow  was  crying  as 
though  his  heart  would  break.  Banica  or  Banitza,  the 
village  at  which  we  had  halted,  proved  to  be  a  miserable 
collection  of  huts,  constructed  of  rounded  stones,  with 
which  the  surrounding  hills  were  covered.  Like  most 
Turkish  villages,  it  clung  to  the  side  of  a  hill,  sprawling 
there  with  no  attempt  at  system  or  a  view  to  streets.  The 
buildings  were  of  one  story;  a  few  had  glass,  but  in  by 
far  the  most  part  straw  was  employed  to  block  the  win- 
dows. The  twisting  paths  which  wandered  about  between 
the  houses  were  knee-deep  in  black  mud.  There  were  no 
shops,  not  even  a  cafe. 

Other  and  higher  hills  rose  above  the  one  on  which  the 
village  was  situated.  These  hills  were  barren  and  covered 
with  loose  stones,  their  tops  were  crested  with  rough 
breastworks  behind  which  were  empty  cartridge  cases, 
torn  clothing,  ponchos,  and  scattered  bodies  in  faded  uni- 
forms, for  here  the  Bulgar  and  Serb  had  opposed  each 
other.  To  the  north  of  the  village  stood  a  few  trees,  and 
here  within  a  barbed-wire  corral  a  few  armed  Serbs 
guarded  several  hundred  Bulgar  prisoners.  The  villagers 
were  as  unattractive  as  their  surroundings,  the  men  dull, 
dirty-looking  specimens,  the  women  cleaner,  but  far  from 
comely.  The  latter  were  dressed  in  skirts  and  blouses  of 
many  colors.  Their  heads  were  covered  with  shawls, 
the  ends  of  which  were  wound  about  their  necks.  From 
beneath  these  straggled  their  hair,  invariably  woven  into 
two  plaits  into  which  was  interwoven  hair  from  cow's 
tails  dyed  a  bright  orange.  Upon  their  feet  they  wore 
wooden,  heelless  sandals  which,  when  they  walked, 
flapped  about  like  shutters  in  a  gale  of  wind.  The  little 
girls  were  miniature  replicas  of  their  mothers,  save  their 
faces  were  brighter  —  some  almost  pretty.  They  wore 
their  many  petticoats  like  their  mothers,  at  mid-leg 
length,  tiny  head-shawls  and  striped  wool  stockings.  The 
endless  occupation,  both  of  the  women  and  children,  was 
the  carrying  of  water  in  clay  jars.  They  must  have  been 
building  a  river  somewhere  and  judging  from  the  amount 

349 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


of  water  they  were  transporting,  it  was  to  be  no  small- 
sized  stream  either. 

Not  all  of  the  cars  had  come  through  to  Banitza  and 
so  we  awaited  their  arrival.  Several  had  broken  axles  and 
the  big  atelier  car  and  the  soup  battery  had  mired  in 
crossing  the  Ostrovo  flats.  Meanwhile,  perched  on  the 
side  of  a  hill  with  the  snow  above  us  and  a  falling  tem- 
perature, we,  of  the  advance  squad,  were  reminded  that 
winter  was  almost  upon  us.  The  days  were  gray,  and  as 
there  was  nothing  to  do  while  awaiting  the  stragglers, 
save  gaze  across  the  valley  w^hich  stretched  southward 
below  us,  the  time  dragged.  The  boom  of  heavy  guns 
came  to  us  from  the  northwest  and  occasionally,  when 
the  wind  was  right,  we  could  hear  the  crackle  of  infantry 
fire.  Some  couriers  riding  back  from  the  front  brought 
word  that  Monastir  had  fallen  after  fierce  fighting  and 
the  French  were  advancing  northward. 

By  evening  of  the  third  day  all  the  cars  had  come  up, 
and,  with  the  kitchen  wagons  once  more  in  our  midst,  we 
w^ere  again  able  to  have  a  hot  meal.  Our  spirits  rose,  and 
that  night,  clustered  round  a  small  fire,  we  sang  some 
mighty  choruses.  At  nine  on  the  morning  of  the  24th  of 
November  —  a  cold,  drizzly  morning  —  we  wormed  our 
way  down  through  the  village  and  out  upon  the  transport 
road  northeast  toward  the  Serbian  frontier.  Though  hun- 
dreds of  German,  Bulgar,  and  Turkish  prisoners  were  at 
work  upon  the  road,  it  was  scarcely  passable.  Everywhere 
we  passed  mired  couriers  and  camions;  dead  horses  and 
abandoned  w^agons  w^ere  scattered  about.  The  way  led 
across  a  level  valley  floor.  On  the  flat,  muddy  plains  bor- 
dering the  road  were  camps  of  French,  English,  Italians, 
and  Russians.  Several  aviator  groups  were  squatted  in 
the  miry  desolation. 

As  we  advanced,  the  road  accomplished  something  we 
had  deemed  impossible  —  it  grew  worse.  The  transport 
of  five  armies  struggled  along,  or  rather  through  it,  and 
contributed  everything  from  huge  tractors  to  little  spool- 
wheeled,  cow-drawn  Serbian  carts.  We  passed  through 

350 


SECTION  THREE 


one  squalid,  war-festered  village  where  the  road  reached 
the  sublimity  of  awfulness  and  then  about  midday  spoke 
the  village  of  Sakulevo.  Several  demolished  buildings, 
pocked  walls,  and  shelled  houses  showed  the  place  had 
been  recently  under  fire.  Passing  through,  we  crossed  a 
sluggish  stream,  from  which  the  village  takes  its  name, 
and  on  a  shell-scarred  flat  on  the  north  bank  halted  and 
pitched  our  tents. 

''Valleys  Dreadly  Desolate" 

The  road  at  this  point  bends  to  the  east  before  again 
turning  northward,  and  enters  the  long  valley  at  the 
farther  end  of  which  lies  the  city  of  Monastir.  About  a 
mile  northward  from  our  camp  was  a  stone  which  marked 
the  border  between  Macedonia  and  Serbia.  High  ranges 
of  mountains  stretched  along  the  side  of  the  lonesome 
valley.  No  words  of  mine  can  describe  the  landscape  as 
do  the  words  of  Service : 

"The  lonely  sunsets  flare  forlorn 
Down  valleys  dreadly  desolate, 
The  lordly  mountains  soar  in  scorn 
As  still  as  death,  as  stern  as  fate. 

"The  lonely  sunsets  flame  and  die, 
The  giant  valleys  gulp  the  night, 
The  monster  mountains  scrape  the  sky 
Where  eager  stars  are  diamond  bright." 

"Where  the  Best  is  like  the  Worst" 

We  had  reached  Sakulevo  on  the  afternoon  of  the  24th 
of  November.  On  the  morning  of  the  25th  we  started  to 
work.  On  the  other  side  of  the  river  was  a  cluster  of  tents. 
It  was  a  field  dressing-station  and,  appropriate  to  its 
name,  was  located  in  a  muddy  field.  Since  Sakulevo  was 
at  this  time  some  thirty  kilometres  from  the  fighting,  our 
work  consisted  of  evacuations;  that  is,  back  of  the  line 
work,  the  most  uninteresting  an  amhulancier  is  called 
upon  to  do,  since  it  wholly  lacks  excitement.  Here  it  was 
made  more  trying  because  of  the  fearful  roads  over  which 

351 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


our  route  lay.  At  this  time  the  village  of  Eksisu,  some 
forty  kilometres  southeast  of  Sakulevo  was  railhead,  and 
to  this  point  we  evacuated  our  wounded.  It  was  a  matter 
of  three  and  a  half  hours  of  the  most  trying  sort  of  driv- 
ing. Perhaps  a  better  idea  of  our  work  at  Sakulevo  may 
be  had  if  we  go  together  on  a  ''run."  It's  seven-thirty  in 
the  morning,  a  cold  raw  morning  with  ice  on  the  pools 
and  a  skim  of  ice  on  the  inside  of  the  tent.  The  sun  has 
not  long  appeared  over  the  snow-clad  mountains  and 
there  is  little  warmth  in  its  rays.  We  have  just  had  break- 
fast —  Heaven  save  the  name !  some  black  coffee  and 
army  bread  —  so  it's  time  to  be  off.  We  crank-up  —  a 
none  too  easy  performance,  since  the  motors  are  as  stiff 
with  cold  as  we  are  —  and  then  toss  and  bump  our  way 
across  the  little  bridge  disregarding  a  sign  which,  in  hve 
languages,  bids  us  "go  slowly."  A  couple  of  hundred 
metres  farther  on  in  a  field  at  the  left  of  the  road  is  a 
group  of  tents,  before  which  whips  a  sheet  of  canvas  dis- 
playing a  red  cross.  It  is  the  field  dressing-station.  We 
turn  the  car,  put  on  all  power  and  plough  through  a  mire, 
and  then  out  upon  more  solid  ground,  stopping  in  front 
of  the  tents. 

The  tent  flap  opens  and  two  brancardiers  appear,  bear- 
ing between  them  a  stretcher  upon  which  lies  a  limp 
figure  covered  with  a  dirty  blanket.  A  gray-green  sleeve 
dangles  from  the  stretcher  and  shows  your  first  passenger 
is  a  German.  He  is  slid  into  place  and  by  this  time  your 
second  passenger  is  ready.  He  is  a  giant  Senegalese  with 
a  punctured  lung.  Your  third  man  is  a  sous-officier  whose 
right  leg  has  just  been  amputated.  He  has  been  given  a 
shot  of  morphine  and  his  eyes  are  glazed  in  stupor.  The 
third  stretcher  is  shot  home,  the  tail-board  put  up,  and 
the  rear  curtain  clamped  down.  Over  these  roads  we  can 
take  no  more,  so  we  are  ready  for  the  start. 

Through  the  slough  and  then  out  upon  the  road,  which 
is  little  more,  we  go.  Through  war's  traffic  we  pick  our 
way,  beside  shell-laden  camions,  pack-trains,  carts,  past 
stolid  lines  of  Russians,  dodging  huge  English  lorries 

352 


SECTION  THREE 


whose  crews  of  Tommies  sing  out  a  friendly  ''Are  we 
down-hearted?"  Between  rows  of  Bulgar  and  Boche 
prisoners  your  way  is  made,  the  hooter  sounding  out  its 
demand  for  the  rights  of  a  loaded  ambulance.  Along  the 
roadside,  out  there  in  the  fields,  sprinkled  everywhere, 
we  see  the  little  wooden  crosses,  war's  aftermath.  Every- 
where war's  material  wastage  is  apparent.  XA'recked 
wagons  and  motors,  dead  mules,  hopelessly  mired  carts, 
military  equipment,  smashed  helmets,  dented  douilles. 
Your  way  is  lined  with  these.  The  road  from  there  on 
becomes  freer,  but  is  still  too  rough  to  permit  much 
quickening  of  speed.  As  we  turn  a  bend,  a  frenzied  Italian 
comes  charging  across  the  fields.  He  seems  greatly  excited 
about  something  and  unwinds  reels  of  vowels,  not  one 
word  of  which  we  understand.  We  try  him  in  English  and 
French,  not  one  word  of  which  he  understands,  so  finally 
we  give  it  up  and  go  on,  leaving  him  to  his  ''que  dises.'' 
Through  two  passes,  in  which  the  white,  low-hanging 
clouds  close  down,  through  several  deserted  villages  over 
a  road  which,  save  in  the  Balkans,  would  be  considered 
impassable,  we  carry  our  load.  It  is  impossible  to  prevent 
lurching,  and  the  black  within  groans  and  cries  aloud  in 
his  pain.  The  Boche,  too,  when  there  is  an  exceptionally 
bad  bit,  moans  a  little,  but  the  sous-officier  makes  not  a 
sound  throughout  the  voyage.  At  one  point  the  road 
passes  near  the  railroad,  and,  dangling  over  a  ravine,  we 
can  see  the  remains  of  a  fine  iron  bridge  dynamited  dur- 
ing the  great  retreat.  At  last,  rounding  the  jutting  point 
of  a  hill,  we  see  far  below  us  the  blue  waters  and  barren 
shores  of  Lake  Petersko.  Squatted  beside  the  lake  is  a 
little  village,  Sorovicevo.  Railhead  and  our  destination, 
the  station  of  Eksisu,  lies  a  mile  or  so  to  the  west.  Down 
the  hill  we  brake  our  way,  then  over  a  kilometre  of  wave- 
like road  into  a  slough,  where  for  a  time  it  seems  we  are 
destined  to  stick,  and  at  last  the  tossed  and  moaning  load 
is  brought  to  a  stop  at  the  hopital  d'evacuation,  a  large 
cluster  of  tents.  We  assist  in  removing  the  wounded  — 
the  Senegalese  is  gray  now,  with  the  shadow  of  death 

353 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


upon  him,  and  his  breath  gushes  with  great  sobs  through 
his  torn  lung.  The  Frenchman  and  Boche  seem  to  have 
come  through  all  right. 

It  is  now  eleven-thirty  o'clock,  and  we  are  probably 
becoming  conscious  that  we  could  use  a  little  food,  but 
it  will  be  at  least  two  hours  before  we  can  reach  camp,  so 
we  get  out  a  spark-plug  wrench  and  break  up  several 
army  biscuits  to  munch  on  the  way  home.  En  route  we 
are  hailed  by  three  Tommies  who  have  been  left  behind 
and  are  seeking  to  join  their  detachment.  They  desire  a 
lift,  so  we  take  them  aboard  and  are  repaid  by  hearing 
their  whimsical  comments  on  the  ''filthy  country."  It  is 
nearly  two  o'clock  —  a  blowout  has  delayed  us  —  when 
we  reach  camp  and  the  motor  has  barely  stopped  churn- 
ing before  we  are  in  the  mess-tent  clamoring  for  our 
"dum-dums"  —  beans  —  and  singe,  tinned  beef.  You 
will  find  your  appetite  has  not  suffered  because  of  the 


Tenting  in  Serbia 

The  days  were  rapidly  growing  colder.  Our  tents  were 
sheathed  with  ice  and  the  snow  foot  crept  far  down  the 
mountains  each  night.  We  got  our  sheepskin  coats  and 
inserted  an  extra  blanket  in  our  sleeping-bags.  Each  night 
we  drained  our  radiators  to  prevent  damage  from  freezing. 
The  few  sweets  we  had  brought  with  us  had  now  gi\^en 
out.  In  the  French  army,  save  for  a  little  sugar  —  very  lit- 
tle —  and  occasionally  —  very  occasionally  —  and  a  small 
amount  of  apple  preserve,  no  sweets  are  issued.  It  was 
impossible  to  purchase  any,  so  presently  there  set  in  that 
craving  for  sugar  which  was  to  stay  with  us  through  the 
long  winter.  The  arrival  of  Thanksgiving,  with  its  mem- 
ories of  the  laden  tables  at  home,  did  not  help  matters. 
Dinner  consisted  of  lentils  —  my  own  particular  aversion 
—  boiled  beef,  bread,  red  wine,  and  black  coffee.  However, 
the  day  was  made  happy  by  the  arrival  of  our  first  mail 
and  we  feasted  on  letters. 
It's  wonderful  what  a  cheering  effect  the  arrival  of  the 

354 


DISTANCES      ON    MA!N  RO^D 
MOWASTlR.   TO  CMP       II  KiLOMfTRES 

t^ON/VSTlR     TO    TloRINA    52         D" 
FLORlNA        TO     CAMP          ^9          Bo 

T«uK,      THf       D'ARV        P,tLO^.t,.N^ 

»°                            Do   (miuUJ^d)      Zlt  K 

To 

M«-RICHA^D      VARNUr^ 

BlSTRlK^    Stpriiiai 

TYPE  OF   SKETCH   MAP   USED   BY   DRIVERS 


SECTION  THREE 


post  had  on  us.  Throughout  the  winter  it  was  about  our 
only  comfort.  In  France  it  had  been  welcome,  but  down 
in  the  Orient  we  seemed  so  cut  off  from  the  world  that 
letters  were  a  luxury,  the  link  with  the  outside.  When 
they  came,  it  did  n't  so  much  matter  that  a  man  was  cold 
or  hungry  and  caked  with  mud,  that  the  quarters  leaked 
and  the  snow  drifted  in  on  his  blankets.  The  probability 
of  its  arrival  was  an  unfailing  source  of  pleasurable  con- 
jecture; its  arrival  the  signal  for  whoops  and  yowls;  its 
failure,  the  occasion  for  gloom  and  pessimism. 

Some  fifteen  kilometres  to  the  north  and  west  of 
Sakulevo  was  the  large  town  of  Fiorina,  the  northern- 
most town  of  Macedonia.  Here  was  located  a  large  field 
hospital.  At  the  hospital,  for  a  time,  we  maintained  a  poste 
of  two  cars  on  five-day  shifts. 

At  Florina 

\A'E  found  Fiorina  one  of  the  most  Interesting  towns  in 
the  Balkans.  Long  under  the  rule  of  the  Turk,  it  possessed 
a  distinctly  Oriental  aspect  which  gave  it  charm.  It  nestled 
at  the  foot  of  some  high  hills  which  had  been  the  scene 
of  heavy  fighting  in  the  dispute  for  its  possession.  The 
town  itself  had  suffered  little,  if  any,  in  the  fighting.  Its 
long  main  street  followed  a  valley,  turning  and  twisting. 
Booths  and  bazaars  lined  the  thoroughfare  and  in  places 
vines  had  been  trained  to  cover  it.  There  were  innumer- 
able tiny  Turkish  cafes,  yogart  shops,  little  shops  where 
beaten  copperware  was  hammered  out,  other  booths 
where  old  men  worked  on  wooden  pack-saddles  for  burros. 
There  were  artisans  in  silver  and  vendors  of  goat's-wool 
rugs.  The  streets  were  always  alive  with  "the  passing 
show,"  for  the  normal  population  of  fifteen  thousand 
souls  had  been  greatly  augmented  by  the  influx  of  refugees 
from  Monastir.  There  was  an  air  of  unreality  about  the 
place,  an  indefinable  theatricalism  which  gave  one  the 
sense  of  being  part  of  a  play,  a  character,  and  of  expecting, 
on  rounding  a  corner,  to  see  an  audience  and  then  to  hear 
the  playing  of  the  orchestra. 

355 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 

It  was  while  on  duty  at  the  hospital  at  Fiorina  that  I 
made  the  first  run  into  Monastir.  My  journal  for  Decem- 
ber 2  reads: 

**At  one  o'clock  this  afternoon  received  orders  to  pro- 
ceed to  Monastir  en  raison  de  service.  My  passengers  were 
two  corporals.  It  has  been  a  cold,  overcast  day,  the  clouds 
hanging  low  over  the  snow-capped  mountains.  A  cold, 
penetrating  wind  hit  us  in  the  face  as  we  drew  away  from 
the  hospital. 

''Where  the  Fiorina  road  joins  the  main  caravan  road 
to  Monastir,  we  passed  from  Macedonia  into  Serbia. 
Here  we  turned  sharply  toward  the  north.  The  flat  fields 
on  either  side  were  cut  up  with  trenches,  well  made,  deep 
ones,  from  which  the  enem^^  was  driven  less  than  a  fort- 
night before,  and  shallow  rifle  pits  which  the  French  and 
Serbs  had  used  in  the  advance.  Even  now,  so  soon  after 
their  evacuation,  they  were  half  filled  with  water.  Every- 
where there  was  evidence  of  big  gun-fire  and  in  one  place 
where  we  crossed  a  bridge  the  ground  for  yards  about 
was  an  uninterrupted  series  of  craters.  For  the  first  time 
in  the  war  I  saw  piles  of  enemy  shells  and  shell  cases 
showing  that  his  retreat  had  been  unpremeditated  and 
hasty.  In  one  place  stood  a  dismantled  fiqld  piece. 

Negocani  —  Monastir 

'*  About  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after  leaving  Fiorina,  we 
reached  the  village  of  Negocani.  There  had  been  heavy 
fighting  here  and  many  of  the  houses  had  been  reduced 
to  piles  of  'dobe  bricks.  Two  miles  away  on  the  road,  we 
could  discern  the  remains  of  another  village,  Kenali, 
where  the  enemy  made  his  last  stand  before  falling  back 
upon  Monastir  the  other  day.  The  sound  of  the  guns  had 
all  the  while  been  growing  louder,  and  not  far  beyond 
Negocani  I  caught  my  first  glimpse  of  the  minarets  of 
Monastir.  It  had  been  two  months  since  I  was  under  fire 
and  I  had  some  curiosity  as  to  how  it  would  afTect  me. 
Before  reaching  the  environs  of  the  city,  it  became  ap- 
parent that  this  curiosity  would  not  long  remain  unsatis- 

356 


SECTION  THREE 


fied,  for  ahead  we  could  see  the  smoke  and  dust  from 
bursting  shells.  Approaching  the  city,  the  way  becomes  a 
regular  road,  quite  the  best  I  have  yet  seen  in  the  Balkans. 
I  was  speculating  on  this  marv^el  when,  perhaps  five  hun- 
dred yards  ahead,  a  columnar  mass  of  earth  spouted  into 
the  air.  The  whirring  of  speeding  eclat  had  scarcely  ceased 
when  another  came  in  slightly  nearer.  The  road  was  under 
fire  and  that  same  old  prickly  feeling  shot  up  my  spine, 
the  same  'gone'  sensation  moved  in  and  took  possession 
of  my  insides.  Suddenly  the  familiar  sound  perv^aded  the 
air.  There  was  the  crash  as  though  of  colliding  trains  and 
not  forty  metres  away  the  earth  by  the  roadside  vomited 
into  the  air.  In  another  second  the  dehris  and  eclat  rained 
all  about  us,  showering  the  car.  The  shell  was  a  good- 
sized  one  —  at  least  a  *  150,'  and  we  owed  our  lives  to  the 
fact  that,  striking  in  soft  ground,  the  eclat  did  not  radi- 
ate. Meanwhile,  I  had  not  waited  for  the  freedom  of  the 
city  to  be  presented.  The  machine  was  doing  all  that  was 
in  her,  and  in  a  few  seconds  more  we  shot  by  the  outlying 
buildings.  The  fire  zone  seemed  to  be  restricted  to  the 
entering  road  and  the  extreme  fringe  of  the  city,  and 
when  we  reached  the  main  street,  though  we  could  hear 
the  shells  passing  over,  none  struck  near.  Within  the  city 
our  batteries,  planted  all  about,  were  in  action  and  the 
whirring  of  our  own  shells  was  continuously  sounding 
overhead. 

*'We  parked  in  a  filth-strewn  little  square  lined  with 
queer  exotic  buildings.  While  I  waited  for  the  corporals 
to  perform  their  mission,  I  talked  with  an  Algerian 
zouave  who  lounged  in  the  doorway.  He  pointed  out 
where  a  shell  had  struck  this  morning,  killing  three  men, 
two  civilians  and  a  soldier.  He  further  informed  me  that 
the  streets  of  the  city  were  in  full  view  of  the  enemy,  who 
occupied  the  hills  just  beyond  its  outskirts.  This  revela- 
tion was  most  disconcerting  to  me,  for  I  had  no  desire  to 
work  up  a  'firing  acquaintance.'  A  number  of  ofhcers  of 
high  rank  passed  —  among  them  a  three-star  general.  A 
colonel  of  infantry  stopped,  shook  hands  with  me,  and 

357 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


spoke  appreciatively  of  the  work  of  the  Corps  in  France, 
saying  he  was  glad  to  welcome  a  car  in  the  Orient. 

"By  three  o'clock  we  were  ready.  My  passenger  list 
was  augmented  by  a  lieutenant,  medecin,  who  wished  to 
reach  Fiorina.  He  cautioned  me  with  much  earnestness 
to  allez  vite  when  we  should  reach  this  shelled  zone,  a 
caution  wholly  unnecessary,  as  I  had  every  intention  of 
going  as  fast  as  Providence  and  gasoline  would  let  me. 
The  firing  now  —  praise  to  Allah  —  had  slackened  and 
only  an  occasional  shell  was  coming  in.  So,  making  sure 
the  engine  was  functioning  properly,  I  tuned  up,  and  a 
second  later  we  were  going  down  the  road  as  though  '  all 
hell  and  a  policeman '  were  after  us. 

"We  reached  Fiorina  without  mishaps.  To-night  there 
is  a  full  moon.  Don  and  I  strolled  down  into  the  town.  It 
was  singularly  beautiful,  the  white  minarets  standing  out 
against  the  sombre  mountains,  the  silvery  light  flooding 
the  deserted  streets.  We  strayed  into  one  of  the  tiny  little 
cafes.  It  was  a  cosy  place.  Divans  covered  with  rugs  and 
sheepskins  lined  the  walls.  A  few  befezzed  old  men  sat 
cross-legged  on  these  —  sat  there  silently  smoking  giant 
hookahs  and  sipping  their  syrupy  coffee.  We,  too,  ordered 
coffee,  and  then  sat  in  the  silence  helping  in  the  thinking. 
After  a  while  the  door  opened  and  a  short,  hairy  man 
entered.  He  was  clad  in  long  white  wool  drawers,  around 
which  below  the  knee  were  wound  black  thongs.  On  his 
feet  were  queer-shaped  shoes  which  turned  sharply  up  at 
the  end  and  were  adorned  with  black  pompom.s.  He  wore 
a  short  jacket  embroidered  with  tape,  and  thrown  back 
from  his  shoulders  was  a  rough  wool  cape.  Around  his 
waist  was  wound  a  broad  sash,  into  which  was  thrust 
a  revolver  and  a  long-bladed  dirk.  About  his  neck  and 
across  his  breast  were  hung  many  silver  chains,  which 
jingled  when  he  moved.  His  head  was  surmounted  by  a 
white  brimless  hat.  He  talked  in  an  unknown  tongue  to 
the  patron,  and  then,  bowing  low  to  us,  was  gone  amid  a 
clinking  of  metal.  This  strange-looking  individual  was  — 
so  we  learned  from  the  cafe's  proprietor  —  an  Albanian, 

358 


SECTION  THREE 


a  man  learned  in  the  ways  of  the  mountains,  a  scout  in 
the  employ  of  the  French. 

"We  sipped  another  coflfee,  smoked  a  cigarette,  and 
then,  bowing  to  the  old  men,  went  out  into  the  moonlit 
street,  leaving  them  to  their  meditations.  As  I  write  this 
from  the  tent,  the  sky  is  darkening,  a  chill  wind  sweeps 
down  from  the  snow  and  gutters  the  candle.  I  am  glad 
that  our  blankets  are  many." 

As  the  days  went  by,  our  camp-site,  where  we  were 
the  first  comers,  began  to  assume  the  aspect  of  a  boom 
mining  town.  Several  camion  sections  appeared.  Numer- 
ous ravitaillement  groups  moved  in.  Tents  and  nondescript 
structures  of  earth  and  ammunition  boxes  sprang  up. 
Across  the  river  ten  thousand  Russians  were  encamped, 
and  all  night  their  singing  came  to  us  beautifully  across 
the  water.  All  day  and  all  night,  war's  traffic  ground  and 
creaked  by  us.  The  lines  had  shaken  down ;  the  two  forces 
were  now  entrenched,  facing  each  other  just  beyond 
Monastir,  and  the  transport  was  accumulating  munitions 
for  an  offensive.  In  the  first  camp  opposite  struggled  long 
lines  of  Serbian  carts  —  carts  such  as  Adam  used  to  bring 
the  hay  in.  The  sad-faced  burros  plodded  by,  loaded  with 
everything  from  bread  to  bodies.  Soldiers  —  French, 
Italian,  Serb,  and  Russian — slogged  by.  But  this  activity 
was  confined  to  the  narrow  zone  of  the  roads.  Beyond, 
the  grim,  desolate  country  preserved  its  lonesomeness 
and  impressed  upon  the  soul  of  man  the  bleakness  and 
harshness  of  a  land  forlorn.  For  the  most  part  the  days 
were  gray  and  sombre,  with  low-hanging  clouds  which 
frequently  gave  out  rain  and  sleet  and  caused  the  river 
to  rise  so  that  more  than  once  we  were  in  danger  of  being 
flooded  out.  But  occasionally  there  would  be  a  clear 
morning,  when  the  clouds  were  driven  back  and  the  rising 
sun  would  light  the  mountains,  turning  the  snow  to  rose 
and  orange.  We  were  growing  very  tired  of  the  evacua- 
tion work,  of  the  long,  weary  runs.  There  was  no  excite- 
ment to  tinge  the  monotony.  We  were  becoming  "fed 

359 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


up."  The  Squad,  therefore,  hailed  with  joy  the  news  that 
the  Section  was  to  move  up  to  Monastir  and  there  take 
up  the  front-Hne  work. 

Though  the  exact  date  of  our  departure  was  not  an- 
nounced, we  knew  it  would  be  soon  and  we  commenced 
at  once  to  make  ready.  Helmets  once  more  became  items 
of  interest  and  motors  were  tested  with  an  interest  born 
of  empirical  knowledge  that  the  fire  zone  was  no  place  to 
make  repairs.  Everybody  brightened  up;  interest  and 
optimism  pervaded  the  camp.  And  then  the  word  came 
that  we  should  leave  on  the  17th  of  December. 


Monastir 

Men  stumbled  about  in  the  darkness  falling  over  tent 
pegs  or  pulling  at  icy  ropes.  Now  and  then  a  motor  in 
response  to  frantic  cranking,  coughed,  sputtered  and  then 
"died."  Down  near  the  cook-tent  some  one  was  swearing 
earnestly  and  fervently  at  the  mud.  It  was  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  and  the  only  light  was  that  given  off  by 
the  stars.  The  Squad  was  breaking  camp,  and  we  were  to 
be  in  Monastir,  twenty-five  kilometres  distant,  before 
daybreak.  Somehow,  in  spite  of  the  darkness,  the  tents 
were  struck  and  packed,  and  the  cars  rolled  out  on  the 
bumpy  roads. 

With  the  assistance  of  our  lights  we  were  able  to  hold 
a  good  pace  until  we  reached  the  dip  in  the  road  which 
had  been  designated  as  the  point  where  the  convoy  should 
halt.  Here  we  extinguished  all  our  lights  and  made  sure 
that  everything  was  right.  Ahead  we  could  see  flashes, 
but  whether  from  our  own  guns  or  bursting  shells  we 
could  not  determine.  The  sound  of  firing  came  plainly  to 
our  ears.  The  cars  now  got  away  at  fifteen  seconds*  inter- 
vals. A  faint,  gray  light  was  showing  in  the  east,  just  per- 
mitting a  dim  vision  of  the  car  ahead.  At  the  entrance  to 
the  city,  in  a  particularly  exposed  spot,  there  was  some 
confusion  while  the  leading  machine  circled  about  in  an 
endeavor  to  pick  the  right  street ;  then  we  were  off  again, 

360 


SECTION  THREE 


heading  for  the  northeast  quarter  of  the  city.  Crossing  a 
small,  wall-confined  stream  by  a  fragile  wooden  bridge, 
we  wound  and  twisted  through  a  maze  of  crooked  streets, 
and  finally,  just  as  the  first  glow  lightened  the  minarets, 
came  to  a  halt  in  a  narrow  street.  Where  my  car  stopped 
was  a  shattered  house  and  the  street  was  carpeted  with 
debris,  the  freshness  of  which  testified  to  the  fact  that  the 
shells  causing  the  damage  must  have  come  in  not  long 
before.  Even  as  I  clambered  out  of  the  machine,  two 
shells  crashed  in  somewhere  over  in  another  street. 

Our  cantonment  consisted  of  two  five-roomed,  two- 
storied  Turkish  houses  which  stood  within  a  small  walled 
compound.  The  top  floors,  or  attics,  of  these  houses  were 
free  from  partitions  and  gave  just  sufficient  space  for  our 
beds,  ranged  around  the  walls.  The  place  was  clean  and 
dry,  and  though,  of  course,  there  was  no  heat  and  no 
glass  in  the  windows,  it  was  infinitely  better  than  the 
tents.  The  rooms  below  were  used  for  the  mess,  the  galley, 
and  for  the  French  staff,  and  one  room  which  had  win- 
dows and  a  stove  was  set  aside  for  a  lounge.  The  CO. 
occupied  a  small  stone  building  which  formed  part  of  the 
compound  wall,  a  sort  of  porter's  lodge.  Beneath  the 
houses  were  semi-cellars,  and  in  one  of  these  were  stored 
the  spare  gas  and  oil.  The  cars  were  at  first  parked  along 
a  narrow,  blind  street  which  extended  a  short  distance 
directly  in  front  of  quarters.  As  it  was  ascertained,  how- 
ever, that  here  they  were  in  plain  view  of  the  enemy,  they 
were  moved  back  on  another  street  and  sheltered  from 
sight  by  intervening  buildings.  The  atelier  was  established 
in  a  half-demolished  shed  about  two  hundred  yards  up  the 
street  from  the  compound. 

A  Bizarre  Poste 

Our  quarters  were  situated  about  midway  between  two 
mosques.  In  front  of  one  of  these  mosques  which  faced  on 
a  tiny  square  hung  a  tattered  Red  Cross  flag,  betokening 
a  field  dressing-station.  Here  we  got  our  wounded.  The 
lines  at  this  time  were  just  beyond  the  outskirts  of  the 

361 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


city,  and  the  wounded  were  brought  directly  from  the 
trenches  to  this  mosque,  from  whence  it  was  our  work  to 
carry  them  back  to  the  field  hospitals  out  of  range  of  the 
guns.  I  doubt  if  there  ever  was  a  more  bizarre  poste  than 
this  of  the  mosque.  The  trappings  and  gear  of  Moham- 
medanism remained  intact.  The  muezzin's  pulpit  draped 
with  its  chain  of  wooden  beads  looked  down  on  the 
wounded  men  lying  on  the  straw-carpeted  floor.  On  the 
walls,  strange  Turkish  characters  proclaimed  the  truths 
of  the  Koran.  The  little  railed  enclosure,  wherein  the 
faithful  were  wont  to  remove  their  sandals  before  tread- 
ing the  sacred  ground,  now  served  as  a  bureau.  All  w^as 
the  same,  save  that  now  the  walls  echoed,  not  the  muez- 
zin's nasal  chant,  but  the  groans  of  wounded  men  who 
called  not  on  Allah,  but  on  God. 

At  first  we  found  the  twisted  streets  very  confusing. 
They  rarely  held  their  direction  for  more  than  a  hundred 
yards  and  their  narrowness  prevented  any  "observation 
for  position."  There  seemed  no  names  or  identifications 
either  for  streets  or  quarters,  and  did  one  inquire  the  way 
of  some  befezzed  old  Turk,  the  reply  would  be  ''Kim  hilir 
Allah''  —  Who  knows?  God.  But  gradually  we  grew  to 
know  these  ways  until  on  the  darkest  of  nights  we  could 
make  our  way  through  the  mazy  blackness. 

The  city  sprawled  about  on  a  more  or  less  level  plain 
at  one  end  of  the  long  valley  which  extended  southward 
to  the  Macedonian  frontier.  Some  of  its  houses  straggled 
up  the  hills  which  rose  immediately  back  of  the  city 
proper.  Beyond  these  hills  rose  the  mountains  from  which 
at  a  distance  of  two  kilometres  the  enemy  hurled  down 
his  hate.  The  normal  population  of  Monastir  w^as  perhaps 
fifty  thousand  souls,  a  population  of  that  bastard  com- 
plexity found  only  in  the  Balkans.  When  we  reached  the 
city,  a  month  after  its  capture  and  occupation  by  the 
French,  something  like  forty  thousand  of  this  civilian 
population  yet  remained,  the  others  having  fled  to  Fiorina 
or  gone  even  farther  south.  Conditions  were  still  unset- 
tled. Daily,  spies  were  led  out  to  be  shot,  and  we  were 

362 


A   FEW   MOMENTS   AFTER  A   SHELL   HAD   KILLED   THE   LITTLE   GIRL 
IN   MONASTIR 


Fiske  Baird  Magnin  Armour 

ROAD-BUILDING    BY   MEMBERS   OF   SECTION   THREE   IN   NECiOGANI 


SECTION  THREE 


warned  not  to  wander  unarmed  in  the  remote  sections. 
Snipers,  from  the  protection  of  covered  houses,  shot  at 
passing  soldiers  and  at  night  it  was  unsalubrious  to  go 
about.  Lines  wxre  drawn  about  the  town  and  none  but 
mihtary  transport  permitted  to  pass.  Famine  prices  pre- 
vailed. In  the  bazaars,  captured  dogs  were  butchered  and 
offered  for  sale.  A  few  stores  remained  open.  Above  their 
doors  were  signs  in  the  queer,  jumpy  characters  of  the 
Serbian  alphabet,  signs  which  it  would  take  a  piccolo 
artist  to  decipher.  Within,  matches  were  sold  for  half  a 
drachmi  (lo  cents)  a  box,  eggs,  7  drachmi  a  dozen,  and 
sugar  at  6  drachmi  a  kilo.  All  moneys,  save  Bulgar,  were 
accepted;  the  drachmi,  the  piastre,  the  franc,  the  lepta,  the 
para,  but  the  exchange  was  as  complicated  as  a  machine 
gun,  and  no  man  not  of  the  Tribe  of  Shy  lock  could  hope 
to  solve  its  mysteries. 

The  Guns  that  command  Monastir 

Though  most  of  the  houses  were  closed  and  shuttered 
as  protection  against  shell  splinters,  life  seemed  to  go  on 
much  as  usual.  There  was  no  traffic  in  the  streets,  save 
at  night  when  the  army  transports  came  through,  or  when 
our  machines  went  by  with  their  loads,  but  the  populace 
passed  and  repassed,  bartered  and  ordered  its  life  with 
the  phlegmatic  fatalism  of  the  Easterner.  The  enemy 
from  his  point  of  vantage  saw  every  move  in  the  city. 
His  guns  commanded  its  every  corner.  His  surveys  gave 
him  the  range  to  an  inch.  Daily  he  raked  it  with  shrapnel 
and  pounded  it  with  high-explosive.  No  man  in  IMonastir, 
seeing  the  morning's  sun,  but  knew  that,  ere  it  set,  his 
own  might  sink.  At  any  time  of  the  day  or  night  the 
screeching  death  might  come,  did  come.  Old  men,  old 
women,  little  children,  were  blown  to  bits,  houses  were 
demolished,  and  yet,  because  it  was  decreed  by  Allah, 
it  was  inexorable.  The  civil  population  went  its  way.  Of 
course,  when  shells  came  in  there  was  terror,  panic,  a 
wailing  and  gnashing  of  teeth,  for  not  even  the  fatalism 
of  Mohammed  could  be  proof  against  such  sights.  And 

363 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


horrible  sights  these  were.  It  was  nothing  to  go  through 
the  streets  after  a  bombardment  and  see  mangled  and 
torn  bodies;  a  man  with  his  head  blown  off;  a  little  girl 
dead,  her  face  staring  upward,  her  body  pierced  by  a 
dozen  wounds;  a  group  in  grotesque  attitudes,  with,  per- 
haps, an  arm  or  a  leg  torn  off  and  thrown  fifty  feet  away. 
These  in  Monastir  were  daily  sights. 

One  afternoon  I  remember  as  typical.  It  was  within  a 
few  days  of  Christmas,  though  there  was  little  of  Yuletide 
in  the  atmosphere.  At  home,  the  cars  were  bearing  the 
signs,  '*Do  Your  Christmas  Shopping  Early,"  but  here 
in  Monastir,  where,  as  "Doc"  says,  "a  chap  was  liable 
to  start  out  full  of  peace  and  good  will  and  come  back 
full  of  shrapnel  and  shell  splinters,"  there  was  little  in- 
ducement to  do  Christmas  shopping.  Nevertheless,  we 
started  on  one  of  those  prowling  strolls  in  which  w^e  both 
delighted.  We  rambled  through  the  tangled  streets,  poked 
into  various  odd  little  shops  in  quest  of  the  curious, 
dropped  into  a  hot  milk  booth  where  we  talked  with  some 
English-speaking  Montenegrins,  and  then  finally  crossed 
one  of  the  rickety  wooden  bridges  which  span  the  city's 
bisecting  stream.  By  easy  stages,  stopping  often  to  probe 
for  curios,  we  reached  the  main  street  of  the  city.  Here 
at  a  queer  little  bakery,  where  the  proprietor  shoved  his 
products  into  a  yawning  stove-oven  with  a  twelve-foot 
wooden  shovel,  w^e  got,  for  an  outrageous  price,  some  sad 
little  cakes.  As  we  munched  these,  we  stood  on  a  corner 
and  watched  the  scene  about  us.  It  was  a  fine  day,  the 
first  sunny  one  we  had  experienced  in  a  long  time.  Many 
people  were  in  the  streets,  a  crowd  such  as  only  war  and 
the  Orient  could  produce:  a  sprinkling  of  soldiers,  mostly 
French,  although  occasionally  a  Russian  or  an  Italian  was 
noticed;  a  meditative  old  Turk,  stolid  Serbian  women, 
little  children  —  a  lively,  varied  picture.  Our  cakes  con- 
sumed, *'Doc"  and  I  crossed  the  street  and,  a  short  way 
along  a  transverse  street,  stopped  to  watch  the  bread  line. 
There  were  possibly  three  hundred  people,  mostly  women, 
gathered  here  waiting  for  the  distribution  of  the  farina 

364 


SECTION  THREE 


issued  by  the  military  to  the  civil  population.  For  a  while 
we  watched  them,  and  then,  as  the  street  ahead  looked 
as  if  it  might  yield  something  interesting  in  booths,  w^e 
continued  along  it.  In  another  fifty  yards,  however,  its 
character  changed ;  it  became  residential,  and  so  we  turned 
to  retrace  our  steps.  Fortunate  for  us  it  was  that  we  made 
the  decision.  We  had  gone  back  perhaps  a  dekametre, 
when  we  heard  the  screech.  We  sprang  to  the  left-hand 
wall  and  flattened  ourselves  against  it  as  the  crash  came. 
It  was  a  "155"  H.E.  Just  beyond,  at  the  point  toward 
which  we  had  been  making  our  way,  the  whole  street  rose 
into  the  air.  We  sped  around  the  corner  to  the  main 
street.  It  was  a  mass  of  screaming,  terror-stricken  people. 
In  quick  succession  three  more  shells  came  in,  one  knock- 
ing '*Doc"  off  his  feet  with  its  concussion.  The  wall  by 
which  we  had  stood  and  an  iron  shutter  close  by  were  rent 
and  torn  with  eclats.  One  of  these  shells  had  struck  near 
the  bread  line.  How  many  were  killed  I  never  knew. 
**Doc"  for  the  moment  had  disappeared,  and  I  was 
greatly  worried  until  I  saw  him  emerge  from  an  archway. 
There  was  now  a  lull  in  the  shelling.  All  our  desire  for 
wandering  about  the  city  had  ceased.  We  started  back 
toward  quarters.  Before  we  were  halfway  there,  more 
shells  came  in,  scattered  about  the  city,  though  the  region 
about  the  main  street  seemed  to  be  suffering  most.  Cross- 
ing the  stream,  we  saw  the  body  of  a  man  hanging  half 
over  the  wall  and  near  by,  the  shattered  paving  where  the 
shell  had  struck. 

In  such  an  atmosphere  we  lived.  Each  day  brought 
its  messages  of  death.  On  December  19,  I  saw  a  spy  taken 
out  to  be  shot.  On  the  20th,  a  house  next  our  quarters  was 
hit.  Two  days  later,  when  evacuating  under  shrapnel  fire, 
I  saw  two  men  killed.  Constantly  we  had  to  change  our 
route  through  the  city  because  of  buildings  blown  into 
the  street. 

Robert  Whitney  Imbrie^ 

*  From  Behind  the  Wheel  of  a  War  Ambulance.  Courtesy  of  Robert  M. 
McBride  &  Company  of  New  York. 


IV 

Albanian  Postes 

Soon  after  our  arrival  at  Monastir,  the  Albanian  work 
was  also  got  under  way  and  two  cars  were  sent  over  there 
—  one  to  Koritza,  the  other  to  Sulim,  on  the  west  shore 
of  Lake  Presba.  They  went  over  on  December  30,  crossing 
the  pass  with  great  difficulty.  In  the  middle  of  January  I 
got  back  from  there  with  Fenton  from  a  two-day  rescue 
trip,  one  of  the  cars  having  a  broken  wheel.  The  col  is  so 
bad  that  we  got  over  it  in  the  supply  car  stripped  of  its 
body  for  the  trip.  If  dry,  the  road  is  just  possible;  other- 
wise you  are  cut  off.  Hence  the  cars  stayed  over  there. 
Supplies  for  the  men  had  to  be  sent  by  ox  or  mule,  a  two 
days'  journey;  oil  and  gas  going  also  by  mule.  It  was  very 
interesting  over  there,  where  nothing  moved  out  of  the 
villages  without  a  military  escort,  and  the  fellows  were 
all  armed  to  the  teeth. 

Officers  at  Koritza  did  n't  dare  ride  out  of  town  except 
on  the  road  toward  Fiorina  and  then  only  for  the  first 
four  or  five  kilometres,  which  were  patrolled.  No  soldier 
went  out  in  the  street  without  a  gun.  They  all  said  they 
were  living,  too,  on  a  political  volcano,  and  in  fact,  in  the 
midst  of  it  all,  along  in  December,  a  Republic  of  Albania 
was  founded!  But  to  us  it  seemed  all  very  quiet,  with 
excellent  cake-shops  open.  We  slept  in  a  hotel  with  an 
English-speaking  proprietor  where  there  were  no  fleas, 
and  were  shaved  in  the  latest  ''scream"  in  American 
barber  chairs,  the  barber  having  been  ten  years  in  New 
Haven.  He  installed  this  splendor  on  the  main  corner  and, 
getting  only  three  clients  a  day,  declared  the  Albanians 
to  be  "a  lot  of  cheap  guys." 

LovERiNG  Hill 


366 


SECTION  THREE 


The  First  Auto  Trip  into  Albania 

This  is  an  account  of  the  trip  of  the  first  auto  into 
Albania. 

At  Fiorina,  we  loaded  up  with  food,  gas,  and  oil,  enough 
for  two  days'  continual  travelling  and  started  out  with 
an  infirmier  to  help  take  care  of  the  blesses  on  the  way 
back.  We  got  over  the  Pisoderi  grade  this  time  with- 
out pushing,  for  I  knew  the  grade  better.  From  there  on 
it  was  the  most  interesting  trip  I  ever  have  made.  For 
twenty  kilometres  we  went  along  a  valley  and  had  to 
ford  the  river  ten  or  eleven  times.  The  people  may  have 
seen  autos  before,  but  they  had  n't  seen  them  enough  to 
satisfy  their  curiosity ;  so  they  would  drop  everything  as 
they  worked  in  near-by  fields  and  rush  to  the  road  to 
watch  us  pass.  When  we  got  about  twenty  kilometres 
from  the  second  poste,  both  man  and  beast  were  afraid 
of  the  machines.  They  would  see  us  coming,  and  by  the 
time  we  got  to  them  they  were  well  across  a  ditch,  where 
I  suppose  they  imagined  they  were  safe.  Even  the  old, 
sleepy  oxen  showed  a  lot  of  ''pep"  when  we  came  along, 
and  backed  and  twisted  around  so  in  their  yokes  that  the 
drivers  had  a  hard  time  untangling  them. 

At  one  village  we  were  stopped  by  a  doctor  who  said 
that  a  hlesse  was  en  route  in  a  wagon  that  had  been  sent 
for  him  the  night  before.  So  we  went  on  to  meet  him,  but 
found  that  the  wagon  did  not  have  the  wounded  man 
after  all.  We  decided,  therefore,  to  go  on  as  long  as  the 
Ford  would  run,  and  soon  crossed  the  line  into  Albania, 
passing  through  several  towns  that  had  been  pretty  well 
shot  up  by  both  the  Bulgars  and  the  Allies  as  the  former 
retreated  two  months  before. 

The  roads  were  almost  impassable,  as  the  old  bran- 
cardier  had  told  us  would  be  the  case,  and  nothing  but  a 
Ford  could  have  got  over  them.  At  length  we  arrived  at 
Koritza,  our  destination,  and  waited  for  the  doctor  to 
make  inquiries.  The  surprise  was  on  us  when  several 
Albanians  speaking  English  crowded  around  the  ma- 

367 


THE  A]\IERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


chines.  They  had  been  in  Worcester,  Massachusetts,  and 
had  accumulated  a  roll  of  bills  large  enough  to  retire  on 
over  here.  You  find  a  lot  like  that.  Finally  we  found  the 
poste  de  secours.  Imagine  our  further  surprise  when  the 
hless6  greeted  us  in  perfect  English,  saying,  "I  am  glad 
you  have  come."  When  he  heard  we  were  Americans,  he 
added :  ' '  So  am  I  —  an  American  volunteer,  born  and 
raised  in  New  York  City." 

Eleven  days  before  our  arrival  this  poor  devil  had  been 
shot  four  times,  and  after  lying  out  in  front  of  the  trenches 
all  day,  he  was  picked  "up  by  hrancardiers  and  brought 
down  from  the  mountains  on  a  mule.  The  lines  were  only 
fifteen  kilometres  away,  but  it  took  eleven  hours  to  ac- 
complish this.  We  carried  him  twenty-five  kilometres  that 
afternoon,  and  stopped  all  night  in  a  little  town. 

We  left  Albania  the  following  morning  and  crept  back 
at  a  snail's  pace  —  about  ninety  out  of  the  hundred  kilo- 
metres in  low.  On  the  way  we  picked  up  other  blesses,  less 
grave  cases,  and  would  take  turns  going  ahead,  with  the 
grave  case  in  the  second  machine.  If  the  front  car  got  an 
awful  jolt,  the  second  one  would  stop,  while  w^e  took  our 
American  blesse  out  and  ran  the  machine  over  the  ditch 
or  bump.  Then  we  would  put  him  back  again,  and  go  on. 

We  got  to  the  second  poste  about  noon,  and  had  our 
Thanksgiving  dinner  of  the  supplies  we  had  brought 
along.  Probably  it  was  the  lightest  turkey  dinner  either 
of  us  ever  had,  for  it  consisted  of  singe,  or  canned  beef, 
biscuits,  cooking-chocolate,  and  some  wine.  But  it  went 
down  with  much  satisfaction. 

We  arrived  at  the  Fiorina  Hospital  about  five  o'clock, 
and  there  received  many  congratulations  from  the  Ale- 
dect7t  Chef  and  several  doctors,  who  thought  we  had 
done  something  wonderful,  for  it  took  a  wagon  train  four 
days  to  make  one  way  of  this  trip. 

Donald  C.  Armour^ 

1  Of  Evanston,  Illinois;  Yale,  '17;  entered  the  Field  Service  in  April, 
19 1 6,  and  served  in  Sections  Three  and  Eight;  subsequently  a  Second  Lieu- 
tenant, U.S.  Field  Artillery. 

368 


SECTION  THREE 


Albanian  Adventures 

January  i,  191 7 
It  is  now  New  Year's  Day  and  I  am  more  than  a  hundred 
kilometres  from  where  I  was  when  I  first  started  this 
letter  —  away  over  two  mountain  ranges.  I  don't  know 
when  I  shall  get  back  to  the  Section,  as  I  am  now  attached 
to  a  regiment  of  infantry.  I  have  arranged  to  have  oil, 
gas,  and  carbide  sent  to  me  by  pack-mules,  and  I  shall 
stay  here  probably  until  my  car  gives  out.  Then  I  shall 
have  to  go  back  on  horseback  —  a  four  or  five  days'  trip. 

Talk  about  Richard  Harding  Davis  or  Anthony  Hope 
adventure  stories!  If  I  were  a  writer  I  would  beat  any  of 
theirs.  For  instance,  I  am  now  armed  with  a  carbine,  a 
revolver,  and  one  hundred  and  twenty  rounds  of  ammuni- 
tion, to  protect  myself  from  brigands  along  the  road.  Can 
you  imagine  anything  more  dime-novelly?  The  Colonel 
of  the  regiment  was  quite  upset  when  he  found  that  I  was 
not  armed  and  immediately  gave  orders  to  arm  me  to  the 
teeth. 

Imbrie  and  Winant  have  gone  ofT  to  find  their  Colonel 
and  I  stay  here  for  another  day  or  two  before  we  all  go  to 
hunt  up  the  regiment  —  over  another  mountain  range. 
I  understand  it  is  an  almost  impossible  route,  over  which 
no  autos  have  ever  gone  before.  In  the  meanwhile  I  am 
comfortably  billeted  here  at  the  house  of  a  man  who  lived 
for  years  in  St.  Louis  and  speaks  English. 

Later 
I  AM  over  another  mountain  range  and  "busted  down." 
I  am  living  in  a  little  mountain  village  with  the  Colonel, 
who  has  just  become  a  general,  and  his  staff.  Until  I  get 
some  spare  parts,  which  will  probably  be  a  week  at  least, 
I  shall  have  to  stay  here,  for  I  am  about  a  hundred  miles 
from  anywhere. 

For  the  first  day  the  General  did  n't  have  any  food 
with  him,  so  I  found  a  chicken  and  some  beans  and  cooked 
them,  thus  managing  to  provide  a  pretty  good  dinner. 

369 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


The  next  day  I  walked  over  to  my  car  and  extricated  the 
canned  goods  which  I  had  in  it,  and  we  ate  with  reHsh. 
At  last  a  limited  amount  of  food  arrived  and  we  are  fixed. 
The  whole  situation  is  really  most  amusing. 

I  am  at  the  farthermost  part  of  the  lines,  way  up  in 
the  mountains  between  two  lakes.  The  inhabitants  of  the 
country  are  wilder  than  the  ancient  American  Indians 
and  live  in  about  the  same  way,  although  they  have  miud 
houses  instead  of  tents.  They  speak  a  mixture  of  Greek, 
Albanian,  and  Serbian,  which  even  the  interpreter  can't 
understand.  The  country  is  full  of  wolves  which  come 
down  to  the  edge  of  town  at  night  looking  for  stray  dogs 
or  donkeys.  I  saw  two  yesterday,  but  was  too  far  away 
to  get  a  shot. 

J.  Marquand  Walker  ^ 

On  the  Serbian  Frontier 

Negocani,  January  3,  191 7 
For  over  two  weeks  we  have  been  up  at  the  very  front, 
but  have  now  been  ordered  back  a  few  kilometres  to  a 
village  right  on  the  frontier.  We  were  very  loath  to  go, 
but  now  that  we  are  settled  here,  I  think  every  one  realizes 
that  staying  up  there  was  an  unnecessary  risk  to  incur, 
for  the  daily,  even  hourly,  bombardments  from  the  enemy 
positions  on  the  hills  looking  straight  down  into  town  had 
been  getting  more  and  more  frequent  and  the  inhabitants 
were  either  leaving  or  lying  low  in  their  cellars.  Finally, 
a  shell  landed  in  a  little  courtyard,  perhaps  seventy  yards 
away  from  us,  and  more  or  less  damaged  six  of  our  cars. 
I  had  thirteen  pieces  in  mine,  damage  done  to  two  tires, 
a  spoke  and  a  radius  rod,  while  a  large  hole  was  made  in 
the  crank  case  which  necessitated  taking  down  the  entire 
motor.  Roddy  Montgomery,  who  was  standing  between 
two  machines,  perhaps  five  yards  off,  was  knocked  over 

1  Of  New  York  City;  Harvard,  '11;  entered  the  Service  in  September, 
1915,  and  later  became  a  Section  leader;  received  a  commission  in  U.S.  Ar- 
tillery and  was  promoted  to  Captain.  The  above  are  extracts  from  home 
letters  and  letters  addressed  to  the  Paris  Headquarters  of  the  Field  Service. 


SECTION  THREE 


and  his  car  battered  up;  but  he  escaped  unhurt.  The 
worst  feature  was  that  a  Httle  girl  of  seven,  who  used  to 
play  around  and  talk  to  us  while  we  were  oiling  and 
greasing,  was  literally  blown  to  pieces  and  fragments  of 
her  burned  flesh  were  spattered  all  over.  Half  of  her  head 
landed  on  the  top  of  my  car  and  had  to  be  scraped  off 
with  essence.  It  was  pretty  sickening.  After  this,  the 
Divisionnaire  decided  it  was  no  use  having  the  Section 
"shot  up"  little  by  little;  so  we  moved  our  quarters.  The 
work  is  still  the  same,  however,  as  the  cars  go  up  from 
here  at  6  a.m.,  and  evacuate  back  to  Fiorina,  seventy 
kilometres  in  all,  while  some  of  us  are  even  busier  than 
before. 

We  are  installed  in  a  large  mud  farmhouse  with  a  huge 
yard,  a  well,  and  half-dozen  outbuildings,  used  as  kitchen, 
dining-room,  and  bureau.  This  yard,  when  we  came  here, 
was  two  feet  deep  in  straw,  rubbish,  and  filth  of  all  sorts, 
and  it  took  two  days  of  shovelling,  burning,  disinfecting, 
and  whitewashing,  to  make  it  habitable ;  but  we  are  now 
well  installed.  The  village  is  deserted  save  for  troops,  so 
any  one  wanting  firewood  calmly  attacks  a  house  with  a 
pick-axe,  smashes  the  mud  walls,  and  walks  off  with  the 
beams,  rafters,  or  anything  else  he  fancies.  It  is  very  con- 
venient, and  avoids  paper  asses.  All  around  us  are  the 
trenches  and  boyaux  of  the  famous  Kenali  lines,  from 
which  the  Bulgars  were  driven  just  before  the  capture  of 
Monastir  last  month.  Some  of  them  are  marvellously  con- 
structed, and  collectors  of  ironware  are  revelling  in  souve- 
nirs of  all  sorts  —  shells,  fuses,  grenades,  bayonets,  etc., 
most  of  which,  however,  I  think  will  be  found  too  heavy 
to  lug  around  and  will  be  discarded  long  before  our  return. 

A  New  Republic 

Just  before  going  up  from  our  first  camp,  I  had  a  most 
interesting  three  days*  trip  into  Albania,  driving  the 
Medecin  Chef  oi  the  Q.G.  and  the  Medecin  Chef  oi  Fiorina 
Hospital  over  to  Koritza  to  see  the  Colonel  in  command 
of  the  troops  in  that  region.  Two  cars  started  with  us; 

371 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


but  after  all  hands  had  pushed  at  them  valiantly  for  hours, 
they  were  obliged  to  turn  back  on  the  col  of  Pisoderi, 
thirteen  kilometres  straight  uphill  from  Fiorina  to  the 
summit,  1650  metres  high,  whence  you  get  a  magnificent 
view  over  the  entire  valley  of  the  Cerna.  I  had  no  partic- 
ular trouble  in  Hill's  little  touring  car,  and  we  reached 
our  destination  late  that  night,  after  sixteen  hours'  steady 
driving  over  some  of  the  worst  roads  possible  to  imagine. 
At  one  time  we  followed  the  bed  of  a  river,  going  through 
it  eleven  times,  and  once  just  escaping  trouble  as  the 
water  drowned  the  carburetor  twice.  At  Koritza  we  were 
royally  welcomed,  and,  as  my  passengers  treated  me  as  a 
friend  instead  of  a  chauffeur,  I  was  the  Colonel's  guest, 
dined  and  lunched  with  him  and  his  Etat-Major,  and  was 
entertained  by  the  younger  officers. 

The  political  situation  is  extremely  interesting  here. 
At  the  beginning  of  the  war  the  Greeks  overran  this  part 
of  Albania,  but  made  themselves  most  unpopular  through 
unjust  taxation.  Last  summer  the  Venizelos  crowd  ex- 
pelled the  royalist  officials,  but  proved  no  better.  As  the 
Powers  in  19 12  pronounced  Albania  independent,  but  as 
the  country  has  had  no  government  since  the  Prince  of 
Wied  was  ''fired,"  some  prominent  citizens  of  Koritza, 
mostly  retired  comitajes,  asked  Colonel  Ducoing's  per- 
mission to  proclaim  a  republic.  He  assented,  the  Greeks 
were  driven  out,  and  a  new  council  was  elected,  or  self- 
appointed,  just  before  we  arrived.  The  flag  of  the  new 
republic,  dark  red  with  a  strange-looking,  black-winged 
creature  on  it,  and  having  a  tricolor  ribbon  around  the 
staff,  had  just  been  hoisted  on  the  town  hall.  The  whole 
thing  is  more  or  less  comic-opera  stuff,  but  the  inhabit- 
ants take  themselves  very  seriously.  Since  then  several 
other  towns  have  joined  the  movement.  Every  one  is 
armed  and  no  one  dares  go  more  than  a  few  kilometres 
from  town,  as  the  country  swarms  with  comitajes  and 
the  Austrian  posts  are  only  a  short  distance  away,  ten 
or  twelve  kilometres,  on  a  mountain  range. 

Our  arrival  caused  immense  excitement,  as  ours  was 

372 


SECTION  THREE 


the  second  motor  car  ever  seen  In  those  parts,  the  first 
being  Colonel  Ducoing's,  in  which  he  arrived,  but  has  not 
used  since.  Just  lately  two  of  our  cars  have  climbed  the 
pass  and  are  now  working  over  in  Albania,  one  at  Koritza, 
the  other  farther  north  near  Lake  Presba.  Hill,  with  a 
mechanic,  has  just  returned  from  a  flying  trip  over  there 
in  order  to  repair  an  axle,  and  says  the  Lord  only  knows 
how  they  can  ever  get  back,  as  the  roads  are  getting  worse 
every  day.  In  a  word,  it  is  all  very  interesting  here  and  I 
think  we  are  being  extremely  useful. 

John  Munroe  ^ 


*  Of  New  York  City;  Harvard,  '13;  joined  the  Field  Service  on  May  6, 
1916,  serving  with  Section  Three;  was  Sous-Chef  in  Macedonia  until  May, 
191 7;  entered  the  School  at  Fontainebleau  and  became  a  Second  Lieutenant 
of  Artillery  in  the  French  Army. 


V 

MONASTIR 

The  work  at  Monastir,  where  we  were  finally  stationed, 
went  on  all  right.  In  this  country  you  very  rarely  get 
up  to  pastes  de  secours.  We  evacuated  from  a  town  two 
or  three  kilometres  back,  along  a  flat  and  on  the  whole 
a  very  good  road,  twenty-eight  kilometres  to  a  village 
where  there  was  a  relay,  and  where  another  section  took 
the  wounded  farther  to  the  rear.  The  work  was  very  in- 
teresting, for  it  was  done  mostly  over  the  territory  con- 
quered the  previous  November. 

At  Monastir  we  were  quartered  very  comfortably  in 
two  good  houses.  But  the  resources  of  the  town  were 
somewhat  limited  and  food  prices  very  high;  two  chick- 
ens, for  instance,  costing  25  francs,  and  two  eggs,  2  francs 
20.  Then,  too,  rifle  bullets  flew  about  certain  of  the  out- 
lying quarters,  "210's"  wandered  in  occasionally,  and  a 
good  deal  of  other  Boche  attention  of  less  distressing 
variety  was  often  our  lot.  We  had  to  sneak  in  at  night,  in 
convoy,  for  the  exit  of  the  town  was  often  pounded,  and 
it  was,  perhaps,  the  best  gauntlet-running  ever  seen  —  on 
a  perfectly  straight,  open  road  with  an  excellent  surface, 
and  in  the  daytime  absolutely  free  of  traflic.  So,  on  the 
whole,  we  were  pretty  well  off  at  Monastir.  But  finally, 
in  January,  191 7,  we  were  ordered  to  fall  back,  as  the 
place  got  too  lively  for  the  cantonment  of  the  Section, 
and  we  established  ourselves  fourteen  kilometres  in  the 
rear,  at  Negocani,  a  mud  village,  the  houses  being  of 
bricks,  made  of  that  material  strengthened  with  manure 
and  straw  —  the  origin  of  reinforced  concrete,  probably. 

The  customs  at  Negocani  were  very  curious.  Take  this 
one,  for  instance!  If  you  were  in  need  of  firewood,  you 
would  look  about  until  you  found  a  house  unoccupied 
by  soldiers,  which  you  then  proceeded  to  demolish  —  a 
very  easy  task,  as  it  is  made  of  mud  —  in  order  to  get 

374 


SECTION  THREE 


the  beams;  the  floors  and  doors,  in  most  cases,  having  all 
disappeared  long  before  our  coming.  The  absence  from 
the  village  of  all  civilians  rendered  the  proceeding  all  the 
easier.  The  day  before  we  entered  upon  our  first  wood 
hunt,  we  found  two  houses  which  were  still  in  fairly  good 
condition,  set  our  seal  on  them,  and  arranged  matters 
with  the  commandant  d'armes.  But  the  next  morning, 
when  we  arrived  on  the  spot  at  eight  o'clock,  we  found 
that  all  the  doors  and  floors  of  one  of  them  had  been 
carried  off  by  a  flock  of  Italians  who  had  reached  town 
during  the  previous  evening. 

We  were  well  off  in  our  house,  which  was  big  enough 
for  the  men  to  sleep  in.  It  had,  on  the  first  floor  upstairs, 
two  rooms  w^hich  were  separated  by  a  hallway.  I  had  a 
room  on  the  ground  floor,  which  was  literally  right  on  the 
ground.  The  French  contingent  of  our  party  occupied  the 
other  ground-floor  room,  while  the  downstairs  hall,  which 
was  provided  with  a  fireplace,  served  at  night  as  a  sitting- 
room.  An  outhouse,  with  smoky  rafters,  to  which,  in  a 
few  minutes,  with  the  aid  of  a  pick,  we  added  windows, 
completed  our  quarters. 

This  place  was  not  as  interesting  as  Monastir,  but  much 
safer,  for  at  the  latter  town  we  were  very  much  cooped 
up,  having  to  stay  within  the  city  limits  all  the  time,  as 
everything  outside  of  the  walls  was  in  plain  sight  of  the 
enemy  and  some  of  the  outlets  were  within  rifle  range. 
Moreover,  there  were  quite  frequent  shellings  of  Monastir 
so  that  staying  indoors  was  much  to  be  encouraged.  For 
instance,  one  shell  landed  in  a  little  court  where  some 
of  our  cars  were  parked,  got  four  of  them  and  a  poor  child 
who  was  blown  to  atoms  and  parts  of  whose  body  were 
found  in  and  on  half  a  dozen  cars.  On  this  occasion  my 
car,  unfortunately,  was  about  the  heaviest  sufferer  —  one 
front  wheel,  radiator,  and  water-inlet  connection  being 
shot  through  and  through,  while  the  headlight  and  quite 
a  lot  of  wiring  were  cut  up.  But  worst  of  all,  the  wind- 
shield and  top  were  ruined  and  a  horrible  piece  of  the 
little  child  wound  round  and  round  the  steering-wheeL 

375 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


This  affair  was  nothing  but  a  coup  court;  but  still  the 
Germans  were  shelling  objectives  that  were  close  enough 
for  pieces  of  shell  to  fall  about  us  very  freely,  and,  though 
we  knew  we  were  backing  out,  it  was  not  till  w^e  got  to 
Negocani  that  we  felt  how  glad  we  were  to  be  out  of 
Monastlr,  especially  as  later  the  entrance  to  this  last  town 
got  shelled  daily  and  on  this  account  we  had  to  change 
the  hours  of  evacuation. 

LovERiNG  Hill. 

A  Gas  Attack  on  Monastir 

Monastir,  January  5 
We  have  just  had  a  gas  attack  here. 

We  sat  there  in  my  car  after  our  lucky  and  narrow 
squeak  with  exploding  shells,  conversing  with  each  other 
and  with  passing  poilus.  Everything  was  quiet,  and  we 
started  to  fix  ourselves  for  the  night.  The  straw  inside  the 
old  Turkish  mosque,  as  we  learned  from  previous  experi- 
ence, was  entirely  too  full  of  life  for  comfortable  slumber; 
so  we  fixed  a  couple  of  stretchers  out  in  the  front  worship- 
ping hall,  where  air  was  better,  too. 

The  shelling  had  recommenced  by  the  time  we  tried  to 
sleep.  Suddenly  the  ohus  began  to  come  in  faster  and 
faster,  their  whistles  blending  one  into  another  until  it 
was  all  one  solid  roar  and  whiz.  The  explosions  sounded 
like  shrapnel,  and  it  was  not  until  a  shell  broke  our  win- 
dow that  we  learned  it  was  gas.  Our  masks  were  out  in 
the  cars,  and  as  we  ran  out  to  get  them  we  almost  suffo- 
cated, although  we  tried  to  hold  our  breath.  Back  in  the 
mosque  it  was  better,  as  the  air  was  nearly  untainted, 
the  windows  being  air-tight.  Fortunately  the  dozen 
malades  and  stretcher-bearers  in  the  mosque  were  all 
provided  with  masks,  so  in  less  uncomfortable  state  of 
mind,  we  sat  down  to  wait.  There  was  nothing  else  to  do, 
of  course.  All  this  time  the  shells  were  coming  in  at  a 
fearful  rate,  all  of  them  landing  right  in  our  quarter. 
Now  and  then  a  man  would  stumble  in  from  the  street, 
choking  from  the  gas  and  calling  for  a  mask.  Pretty  soon 

376 


O 
H 

12; 
o 


SECTION  THREE 


the  doctor  appeared  In  his  stocking  feet,  and  he  took  care 
as  best  he  could  of  the  asphyxiated. 

In  the  meanwhile  things  were  steadily  becoming  worse 
and  worse.  The  streets  were  a  cloud  of  gas,  and  Inside  the 
mosque  It  was  getting  more  and  more  difficult  to  breathe, 
when  suddenly,  as  I  was  standing  by  the  door  talking 
with  Petitjean,  there  came  a  deafening  explosion,  which 
blew  down  the  door  and  a  solid  wave  of  gas  caught  us 
in  the  face.  For  a  moment  there  was  complete  confu- 
sion, men  running  every  which  way  and  some  lying  down 
gasping,  coughing,  and  calling  for  masks.  How  they  lost 
them  is  incomprehensible,  for  almost  every  one  had  a 
mask  on  when  the  shell  came.  The  doctor,  who  was  stand- 
ing beside  me,  had  his  mask  off  for  the  moment  and  got  it 
tangled  up  In  trying  to  put  it  on  again ;  but  fortunately 
he  was  saved  by  the  sergeant-major,  who  clapped  it  on 
the  doctor's  face.  But  he  was  sick  for  several  hours  after- 
wards. At  the  same  time  we  picked  up  some  masks  and 
put  them  on  the  choking  men  who  were  lying  about.  Then 
the  room  was  plunged  in  darkness.  At  this  moment,  I 
heard  Petitjean  calling  for  another  infirmier  to  bandage 
him  up.  The  doctor  was  out  of  commission,  the  infirmier 
unfindable,  and  I  came  to  the  rescue,  finding  Petitjean 
in  the  little  room  in  back.  His  hand  was  bleeding  badly; 
but  I  did  my  best  to  fix  him  up;  rather  a  difficult  job, 
however,  because,  with  the  gas-mask  on,  I  could  hardly 
see  what  I  was  doing.  But  I  did  the  best  I  could  under  the 
circumstances.  First  I  poured  some  alcohol  over  the  hand, 
and  found  that  the  wound  was  not  so  serious  as  I  at  first 
thought.  But  it  was  painful  and  bleeding  enough.  Then, 
to  make  sure,  I  used  peroxide  w^hich  I  sponged  off  with 
cotton  and  put  on  some  iodine,  bandaging  the  hand  up 
as  tightly  as  I  could  in  order  to  stop  the  flow  of  blood  — 
an  effective  dressing,  even  if  it  was  not  very  scientific. 

But  before  I  had  finished  with  Petitjean,  I  was  told 
that  another  man  had  been  completely  knocked  out  by 
the  gas,  and  that  the  only  way  to  save  him  was  to  rush 
him  over  to  the  hospital  in  hope  of  finding  some  oxygen. 

377 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


This  I  immediately  decided  to  do.  There  was  still  a  lot 
of  gas  on  the  street ;  but  I  had  to  take  my  mask  off  to 
drive.  I  finally  got  the  asphyxie  over  to  the  hospital ;  but 
no  doctor  was  to  be  found,  there  was  no  oxygen,  and 
everything  seemed  hopeless.  So,  as  a  last  resort,  I  tried 
artificial  breathing ;  but  the  poor  fellow  died  while  I  was 
working  on  him,  and  I  had  to  take  his  body  back  to  the 
mosque,  where,  in  the  meanwhile,  a  gas  shell  had  come 
in  through  the  outer  door  and  exploded  in  the  anteroom, 
not  ten  feet  from  where  John  and  I  made  our  beds  earlier 
in  the  evening;  and  when  we  collected  our  bedclothes 
next  morning,  they  were  covered  with  debris  and  satu- 
rated with  gas.  At  this  point  a  slight  breeze  sprang  up, 
which  made  breathing  possible  again ;  the  doctor  came  to, 
and  though  awfully  sick,  stuck  to  his  job,  thereby  sav- 
ing the  lives  of  several  men,  while  I  spent  most  of  the 
time  making  coffee  over  an  alcohol  lamp,  coffee  being  a 
great  relief  to  men  who  have  been  gassed.  All  this  hap- 
pened with  bewildering  rapidity  in  less  time  than  one 
takes  to  write  about  it. 

John  was  great.  While  I  was  fixing  up  Petitjean,  he  got 
his  lantern  and  quieted  the  men,  who  were  mostly  intoxi- 
cated by  the  gas,  and  did  not  know  what  they  were  doing. 
His  chief  work  was  to  make  them  keep  their  gas-masks 
on,  which  saved  more  than  one  of  them.  Altogether  the 
shelling  lasted  about  three  hours,  during  which  time 
thousands  of  these  gas  obus  came  in,  with  the  result  that 
two  hundred  civilians  were  killed  and  many  left  dying. 
Few  soldiers  lost  their  lives,  thanks  to  the  gas-masks. 

John  and  I  did  not  begin  to  feel  the  effects  of  the  gas 
until  the  next  day,  and  then  were  uncomfortably  sick. 
It  takes  a  long  while  to  get  the  gas  out  of  one's  system, 
and  the  continual  smell  and  taste  of  the  stuff  is  sickening 
for  days.  My  clothes  and  blankets  still  smell  of  it,  though 
they  have  been  out  in  the  breeze  for  forty-eight  hours. 
After  this  I  will  take  high-explosive  shells  with  all  their 
eclats  in  preference  to  gas. 

J.  Marquand  Walker 

378 


SECTION  THREE 


Our  Sector  Extended 

Toward  the  end  of  January  we  took  over  another  seg- 
ment of  the  line,  a  section  southeast  of  Monastir,  collect- 
ing our  blesses  from  a  village  caHed  Skocivir,  situated  on 
the  banks  of  the  Cerna,  some  twenty-five  kilometres 
from  Negocani.  Skocivir  was  the  highest  point  reached 
by  wheeled  transport,  though  some  fifteen  kilometres 
back  from  the  line.  From  here  munitions  and  ravitaille- 
merit  were  carried  into  the  mountains  on  muleback,  the 
wounded  coming  out  by  the  same  torturing  transport. 
A  few  kilometres  before  reaching  Skocivir  we  passed 
through  the  town  of  Brod,  the  first  Serbian  town  retaken 
by  the  Allies  after  the  great  retreat  of  191 5,  the  point  at 
which  the  Serbs  first  reentered  their  country.  Here  the 
Cerna  was  crossed  by  two  bridges.  Through  the  pass 
beyond  poured  French,  Serbs,  and  Italians  to  reach  their 
allotted  segment  of  line.  The  congestion  and  babble  at 
this  point  was  terrific. 

We  saw  much  of  the  Italians.  Long  lines  of  their  troops 
were  constantly  marching  forward,  little  men  with  ill- 
formed  packs.  As  soldiers  they  did  not  impress  us,  but 
they  had  a  splendid  motor  transport  —  big,  powerful 
cars  well  adapted  to  the  Balkan  mud  and  handled  by  the 
most  reckless  and  skilful  drivers  in  the  Allied  armies. 
The  men  were  a  vivacious  lot  and  often  sang  as  they 
marched. 

"An  Army  of  Old  Men'* 

In  marked  contrast  were  the  Serbs,  "the  poor  relations  of 
the  Allies."  For  the  most  part  they  were  middle-aged 
men,  clad  in  nondescript  uniforms  and  with  varied  equip- 
ment. They  slogged  by  silently  —  almost  mournfully.  I 
never  saw  one  laugh,  and  they  smiled  but  rarely.  They 
were  unobtrusive,  almost  unnoticed;  yet  when  a  car 
was  mired,  they  were  always  the  first  to  help,  and  w^ithal 
they  were  invested  with  a  quiet  dignity  which  seemed 
to  set  them  apart.  I  never  talked  with  a  soldier  of  any 

379 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


army  who  had  seen  them  in  action  but  who  praised  their 
prowess. 

The  going,  or  rather  ploughing,  beyond  Brod  was 
particularly  atrocious,  and  it  frequently  took  from  two 
and  a  half  to  three  hours  to  cover  the  fifteen  kilometres. 
At  one  point  the  way  was  divided  by  two  lonely  graves 
which  lay  squarely  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  the  traffic 
of  war  passing  and  repassing  on  either  side.  Brod  service 
was  particularly  uninteresting,  as  the  point  at  which  we 
collected  our  blesses  was  too  far  back  of  the  line  to  offer 
the  excitement  afforded  by  being  under  fire,  save  when 
there  was  an  air  raid.  Then,  too,  the  roads  were  so  con- 
gested and  in  such  terrible  condition  that  the  driving  was 
of  the  most  trying  sort,  and  it  frequently  meant  all  day 
evacuation  without  one  hot  meal.  Our  work  at  this  time 
was  particularly  heavy;  we  were  serving  three  divisions, 
the  one  back  of  Monastir,  the  Brod  division,  and  the 
division  in  Albania.  In  short,  we  were  covering  the  work 
of  three  motor  Sections. 

During  all  these  days  the  enemy  continued  to  rain  his 
fire  upon  Monastir.  Gradually,  but  none  the  less  surely, 
the  city  was  withering  away.  Here  a  house,  there  a  shop 
or  bazaar,  became  a  mass  of  debris.  Huge  holes  gaped  in 
the  streets;  tangled  wire  swung  mournfully  in  the  wind; 
once  I  saw  a  minaret  fairly  struck,  totter  a  second,  and 
then  pitch  into  the  street,  transferred  in  a  twinkling  from 
a  graceful  spire  into  a  heap  of  brick  and  mortar,  overhung 
by  a  shroud  of  dust.  Though  perhaps  half  of  the  city's 
forty  thousand  inhabitants  had  fled  as  best  they  might, 
as  many  more  remained.  Generally  they  stayed  indoors, 
though  the  flimsy  walls  offered  little  protection  and  there 
were  no  cellars.  When  they  emerged,  it  was  to  slink  along 
in  the  shadows  of  the  walls.  Scuttling,  rather  than  walk- 
ing, they  made  their  way,  every  sense  tensed  in  anticipa- 
tion of  the  coming  of  ''the  death  that  screams."  If  Verdun 
had  seemed  the  City  of  the  Dead,  Monastir  was  the  Place 
of  Souls  Condemned  to  Wander  in  the  Twilight  of  Purga- 
tory. The  fate  of  the  population  civile  was  a  pitiable  one. 

380 


SECTION  THREE 


In  a  world  of  war,  they  had  no  status.  Food,  save  the 
farina  issued  by  the  mihtary,  was  unobtainable,  and  fuel 
equally  wanting.  Scores  were  killed.  As  for  the  wounded, 
their  situation  was  terrible.  Drugs  were  too  precious, 
bandages  too  valuable,  and  surgeons*  time  too  well  occu- 
pied for  their  treatment.  Their  case  would  have  been 
without  hope  had  it  not  been  for  a  neutral,  non-military 
organization  of  the  Dutch  which  maintained  in  Monastir 
a  small  hospital  for  the  treatment  of  civilians.  This  hos- 
pital, established  in  a  school,  did  splendid  work,  and  its 
staff  are  entitled  to  high  praise  and  credit. 

For  this  hospital,  one  morning,  I  got  the  strangest 
load  my  ambulance  ever  carried  —  four  little  girls.  As 
I  lifted  their  stretchers  into  the  car,  their  weights  seemed 
as  nothing.  Three  were  couches;  the  fourth,  a  bright  little 
thing,  wounded  in  the  head  by  H.E.  eclat,  sat  by  my  side 
on  the  driving  seat  and  chatted  with  me  in  quaint  French 
all  the  way  to  the  hospital. 

Meanwhile  the  days  grew  perceptibly  longer  and  the 
sun,  when  it  appeared,  had  a  feeble  warmth.  A  new  Sec- 
tion coming  out  from  France  relieved  our  cars  in  Albania, 
and  Giles  and  the  others  coming  back  from  Koritza  re- 
ported that  the  city  was  under  frequent  plane  bombard- 
ment and  the  population  demoralized. 

For  some  time  the  talk  of  an  attack  on  Hill  248  and 
the  line  back  of  Monastir  had  been  growing.  There  seemed 
little  doubt  now  that  such  an  attack  would  shortly  be 
launched  with  the  object  of  driving  the  enemy  back  and 
freeing  the  city  from  artillery  fire.  Daily  our  fire  grew 
more  intense.  The  roads  were  congested  with  upcoming 
troops  and  new  batteries  going  into  position.  Word  came 
in  that  the  Section  was  to  hold  itself  in  readiness  to  shift 
quarters  to  Monastir.  Then,  at  last,  one  night  came  the 
order  to  report  for  action  in  the  city. 

Robert  Whitney  Imbrie  ^ 

1  From  Behind  the  Wheel  of  a  War  Ambulance.  Courtesy  of  Robert  M. 
McBride  &  Company  of  New  York. 


VI 

The  Section  goes  to  Greece 

Section  Three  was  relieved  from  the  Monastir  sector 
May  26,  191 7,  and  moved  to  Fiorina  about  twenty  kilo- 
metres back.  Here  orders  were  received  attaching  the 
Section  to  the  French  Provisional  Division  which  was 
moving  into  Greece  to  settle  once  and  for  all  the  ever- 
present  Greek  threat  at  the  Allied  lines  of  communica- 
tion in  Macedonia. 

We  started  to  join  the  Division  on  May  31,  going  that 
day  as  far  as  the  English  hospital  for  Serbs  at  Vertekop, 
via  the  main  road  from  Monastir  to  Salonica.  The  first 
village  passed  through  was  the  hillside  town  of  Banica; 
thence  up  over  a  pass  by  the  battle-field  of  Gornitchevo, 
where  the  Serbians  and  Bulgars  fought  in  October,  191 6; 
on  to  Ostrovo  (at  the  northern  end  of  the  lake  of  the  same 
name)  and  Vodena.  From  there  on  to  Vertekop  it  was  easy 
rolling,  mostly  downhill. 

On  June  i  we  rolled  to  Topsin,  passing  through  the 
ancient  town  of  Yenidze  Vardar.  At  Topsin  we  went  into 
a  cantonment  near  the  training-camp  of  the  recruits  for 
the  new  army  of  Venizelos.  Our  camp  was  the  most 
inhospitable-appearing  affair,  situated  as  it  was  in  the 
midst  of  a  broad,  barren,  sandy  stretch  of  homeless  land 
which  offered  neither  shelter  from  the  June  sun  nor  any- 
thing else.  Here  the  rumor  got  out  through  the  usual 
medium  that  we  would  remain  several  weeks  and  then 
be  attached  to  the  new  Greek  Army.  But  the  rumor 
proved  baseless  when  Lieutenant  D erode  returned  from 
Salonica  (which  was  only  about  seventeen  miles  away) 
with  orders  to  move  "on  to  Athens"  early  the  next 
morning. 

The  next  day  we  rolled  by  noon  to  a  town  called  Gida, 
and  after  a  long  halt  on  the  hot,  dusty  road  outside  the 
town,  we  headed  for  Katerini.  Arriving  there  in  the  early 

382 


SECTION  THREE 


evening,  after  having  skirted  the  seacoast  for  many  kilo- 
metres, we  drew  up  in  the  yard  of  an  old  monastery. 
Here  we  were  billeted  for  over  a  week,  during  which 
period  and  much  to  the  regret  of  all,  Charley  Fiske^ 
and  R.  B.  Montgomery,  their  time  having  long  since 
expired,  returned  to  France.  Their  places  were  taken  by 
John  d'Este  (who  later  became  Chief  of  Section  after 
the  Section  returned  to  Monastir)  and  James  Keogh. 

There  were  French  troops  in  reserve  at  Katerini,  the 
temporary  front  line  being  out  in  the  direction  of  Elasson, 
which  was  southeasterly  beyond  the  wooded  hills  back 
of  Mount  Olympus. 

Our  stay  here  was  well  taken  up  with  washing  voitures, 
changing  wooden  bodies  for  lighter  canvas  ones,  and 
making  other  preparations  for  a  campaign  around  the 
interior  of  Greece.  Frequent  trips  were  made  to  the  sea 
at  Scala  Katerini,  distant  about  seven  kilometres.  Here 
the  swimming  was  excellent,  and  the  sea-food  dinners 
were  "elegant." 

The  country  between  Katerini  and  Larissa,  which  is 
the  chief  city  of  Thessaly,  was  reputed  to  be  filled  with 
roving  royalist  comitajes  who  were  the  heroes  of  many  a 
rumored  skirmish  with  French  outposts.  So  the  ambu- 
lanciers  were  armed  —  hardly  to  the  teeth  —  with  au- 
tomatic .32  calibre  pistols.  To  be  sure  that  every  one 
got  acquainted  with  this  weapon  of  emergency,  we  had 
target  practice  out  in  the  field  back  of  the  monastery. 
After  twenty-five  of  us  had  fired  one  round  per  person, 
one  hole  (maybe  two)  appeared  on  the  target.  Whatever 
the  number  of  hits,  it  was  assured  that  every  one  knew 
his  weapon  and  an  attack  on  an  ambulance  section 
convoy  (complete,  with  one  White  truck  and  a  trailer- 
kitchen  which  served  as  a  kennel  for  "Salonique,"  the 
cook's  dog)  was  not  to  be  feared  (by  the  comitajes), 

1  Charles  Henry  Fiske,  3d,  of  Boston,  Massachusetts;  Harvard,  '19; 
served  in  Section  Three  of  the  Field  Service  from  August,  19 16,  to  June, 
1917;  became  a  Second  Lieutenant  in  the  United  States  Infantry  and  died 
of  wounds  received  in  action  August  24,  191 8. 

383 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


As  a  further  assurance  against  a  surprise  attack,  each 
person  was  given  seven  rounds  of  ammunition,  which 
was  to  be  strictly  accounted  for  and  returned  to  Hill  on 
making  the  next  etape. 

On  or  about  June  12,  191 7,  we  moved  on  to  Larissa, 
passing  up  the  heavily  wooded  slopes  back  of  Mount 
Olympus,  following  the  valley  of  the  Mavroneri  River. 
Near  the  crest  of  the  divide,  the  village  of  Petra  was 
passed,  and  from  there  on  it  was  nice  rolling  down  to  the 
town  of  Elasson. 

After  making  Elasson,  we  caught  up  with  the  main 
body  of  the  Division  which  was  strung  all  along  the  road, 
winding  up  the  Maluna  Pass  —  the  entrance  to  Thessaly. 
We  passed  the  little  Indo-Chinamen  who  were  struggling 
up  the  steep  mountain  with  their  huge  packs  and  little 
peaked  sun  hats;  Senegalese,  spahis,  Chasseurs  d^afrique, 
French  Artillery,  and  lots  of  French  infantry.  The  Eng- 
lish troops  involved  in  the  affair  went  by  sea,  so  we  did 
not  come  in  contact  with  them.  Russia  also  contributed 
troops,  but  they  came  after  things  were  settled. 

Passing  down  the  Thessalian  slope  from  the  Maluna 
Pass,  the  holiday-bedecked  town  of  Tirnavos  was  reached 
during  a  heavy  rain.  Allied  flags  were  flying,  though 
drenched;  and  bunting  of  all  colors  showed  signs  of  not 
being  weather-proof.  Hastily  prepared  pictures  of  Gen- 
eral Sarrail,  President  Wilson,  General  Joffre,  and  othens 
of  note  were  hung  from  wires  stretched  across  the  streets 
and  in  the  windows.  The  pictures  looked  as  though  sev- 
eral days  before  they  had  been  likenesses  of  other  persons 
and  had  been  touched  up  in  a  hurry  to  show  how  loyal 
Thessalians  were  to  the  Allied  cause.  These  same  unique 
bits  of  portraiture  appeared  later  at  Larissa  and  Volo. 

From  Tirnavos  it  was  a  short  run  across  the  wheat- 
fields  which  stretched  for  many  kilometres  each  side  of 
the  road  to  Larissa.  We  reached  this  town  around  five  or 
six  o'clock  in  the  evening.  There  were  crowds  of  citizens 
in  the  streets  and  all  were  looking  in  wonderment  at  the 
composite  make-up  of  the  incoming  troops.  The  spahis 

384 


SECTION  THREE 


had  not  long  since  rounded  up  the  treacherous  evzones 
(Greek  infantry)  who,  after  a  formal  surrender,  offered 
resistance  to  the  advancing  French  troops  and  then  fled 
out  across  the  wheatfields.  The  Spahis  charged  across 
the  country  and  after  a  brief  skirmish  brought  in  a  goodly 
number  of  prisoners,  not,  however,  without  losing  twelve 
killed,  officers  and  men. 

We  occupied  the  recently  evacuated  Greek  barracks, 
and  they  were  all  too  recently  vacated,  which  we  found 
much  to  our  discomfort.  Our  barrack  was  near  the  one  In 
which  the  captured  Greeks  were  imprisoned. 

Every  now  and  then  the  Chinese  guards  would  walk 
out  a  group  of  prisoners,  w^ho,  upon  being  addressed  by 
the  French  commander  through  an  interpreter,  would 
give  three  cheers  for  Venlzelos  and  the  Allies,  and  at  the 
same  time  sign  up  in  Venizelos's  Army.  Thereupon  they 
would  be  marched  to  the  station  by  the  ever-vigilant 
Chinamen  and  shipped  to  Salonica  and  I  hope  to  Topsln. 
Thus  we  saw  loyal  royal  Greek  troops  transformed  by  a 
few  well-chosen  remarks  into  loyal  Allied  soldiers. 

After  the  Greek  King  had  acceded  to  the  Allies'  de- 
mands, on  or  about  June  13,  it  became  a  certainty  that 
there  would  be  no  active  campaign  in  Greece,  so  it  was 
a  question  of  time,  as  to  how  long  it  was  necessary  to  keep 
troops  on  the  ground  after  the  abdication.  Several  cars 
rolled  each  day,  carrying  only  a  few  sick  soldiers,  and  it 
is  doubtful  If  we  carried  more  than  fifty  during  the  ex- 
pedition. Before  we  quitted  Larlssa,  leaves  w^ere  granted 
to  Volo,  which  had  been  a  base  of  supply  for  German 
submarines,  where  the  most  remarkable  feature  was  the 
abundance  of  outdoor  moving-picture  shows.  These  shows 
were  given  on  the  quai  from  dark  till  dawn.  Some  of  the 
Section  made  excursions  to  the  Vale  of  Tempe  which  is 
not  far  from  Larlssa. 

By  the  end  of  June  most  of  the  troops  had  evacuated 
Thessaly  and  we  started  back  to  Macedonia  July  i.  On 
this  return  hike  we  went  over  the  Sarantoporen  Pass  to 
Kozano ;  thence,  after  a  night  on  a  barren  hillside  where 

385 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


the  tinkle  of  goat-bells  assumed  the  sonority  of  fire 
alarms,  we  proceeded  through  Eksisu  and  Sakulevo  to 
our  new  sector  beyond  Brod  (which  is  east  across  the 
valley  from  Monastir).  The  Section  now  became  attached 
to  the  Serbian  Army  and  had  for  cantonment  a  clump 
of  tents  on  the  hill  above  Skocivir  looking  down  the 
valley  across  the  Cerna. 

Charles  Baird,  Jr.^ 


*  Reminiscences  based  on  an  unpublished  diary. 


VII 
The  Bombardment  of  Monastir,  191 7 

Monastir,  August  17,  1917 
Along  in  the  afternoon  the  intermittent  bombardment 
of  Monastir,  which  had  been  going  on  all  the  morning, 
suddenly  increased  in  volume,  until  at  four  o'clock  the 
noise  of  the  bursting  shells  became  a  continual  rumble, 
and  tongues  of  .flame  mingled  with  the  smoke  and  dust 
clouds  which  continuously  shot  up  over  the  house-tops 
of  the  city. 

The  greater  part  of  the  Section  was  grouped  on  a  hill- 
side near  camp,  whence  we  could  watch  the  bombardment. 
Two  of  our  cars  were  on  duty  in  the  city,  but  we  had 
no  news  of  them.  Immediately  after  dinner,  Tracy  and 
I,  having  been  assigned  to  twenty-four  hours'  duty  in 
Monastir,  left  camp.  The  bombardment  seemed  to  in- 
crease in  violence  as  we  approached  the  unfortunate  city, 
and  fire  was  sweeping  the  eastern  quarter.  As  we  drove 
up  the  Grande  Rue,  which  practically  cuts  the  city  in 
half,  we  could  see  that  the  eastern  part  of  the  town  had 
suffered  most. 

In  the  Grande  Rue  the  confusion  was  indescribable. 
Women  with  babies  in  their  arms  and  with  little  chil- 
dren clinging  to  their  skirts,  and  men  carrying  grotesque 
burdens  of  household  possessions  hastily  salvaged,  ran 
hither  and  thither  in  an  agony  of  terror.  Others  cowered 
in  their  doorw^ays,  fearful  of  the  open,  while  several  knelt 
directly  in  our  path,  beseeching  us  to  take  them  to  a 
place  of  safety.  Men  even  jumped  upon  the  steps  of  the 
ambulances  from  which  we  forcibly  dislodged  them. 

Arriving  at  the  hospital  we  found  it  undamaged,  being 
well  to  the  north  of.  the  city,  and  nearer  the  Bulgar  and 
Boche  positions.  There  we  relieved  Sinclair  and  Russell, 
who  then  left  for  Fiorina  with  wounded,  and  being  the 
last  to  leave,  were  forced  to  quit  the  town  by  a  circuitous 

387 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 

route  through  the  western  section,  as  shells  were  again 
falling  in  the  Grande  Rue. 

Tracy  and  I  were  at  once  despatched  to  the  offices  of 
the  hospital,  which  were  located  a  little  to  the  east  of  the 
Grande  Rue.  We  found  the  building  intact,  though  sur- 
rounded by  flames.  Tracy  took  the  books  and  records  in 
his  car,  while  I  went  to  the  other  end  of  the  city  to  the 
English  hospital  for  civilian  Serbs,  accompanied  by  an 
old  Serbian  woman,  who  had  had  her  leg  blown  off.  I 
found  the  Grande  Rue  still  passable,  though  some  of  the 
buildings  lining  it  were  in  flames.  Shells  were  now  falling 
to  the  west  of  the  street. 

Having  delivered  my  wounded,  I  returned  to  the 
G.B.D.  Hospital,  where  Tracy  was  preparing  to  make 
another  trip  to  the  offices.  He  left  a  little  later,  brought 
back  the  last  of  the  salvage  from  that  building,  and  re- 
ported that  the  fire  was  gaining  headway  in  the  Grande 
Rue,  which  he  thought  was  impassable  because  of  fallen 
debris.  This  was  not  the  case,  however,  as  Gren^•ille 
Keogh,  who  had  been  sent  for  to  help  handle  the  emer- 
gency calls,  came  through  it  soon  aftenvard.  though  his 
celluloid  goggles  were  ignited  by  a  burning  fragment  of 
wood,  and  one  of  his  e}-ebrows  went  with  them  as  they 
fizzled  up  in  smoke. 

As  no  more  calls  came,  we  remained  at  the  hospital, 
and  at  eight  o'clock  the  firing  dropped  to  an  intermit- 
tent cannonade.  This  continued  until  midnight,  when  we 
found  that  east  of  the  Grande  Rue,  the  city  was  prac- 
tically destroyed.  Incendiary  bombs  as  well  as  high-ex- 
plosive had  been  used,  and  fire  and  shell  had  done  their 
work  thoroughly.  The  French  military  authorities  esti- 
mated that  two  thousand  shells  had  fallen  between  four 
and  eight  o'clock  that  evening. 

Charles  Amsden  i 


*  Of  Farmlngton,  New  Mexico;  Harvard,  '19;  sensed  with  Section  Three 
from  April  to  October,  1917;  subsequently  a  Lieutenant  in  the  U.S.  Air 
Service. 


VIII 

Last  Days  of  Section  Three  in  the  Orient 

On  September  2  it  was  reported  that  the  Italians,  oper- 
ating just  across  the  valley  on  our  right,  had  taken 
Hill  1050  and  that  the  Senegalese  were  attacking  on 
the  plain  at  the  foot  of  Rostanni.  About  noon  we  were 
warned  of  a  coming  counter-attack  and  told  to  be  ready 
to  evacuate  from  two  new  postes.  Accordingly,  that  eve- 
ning, the  two  staff  cars,  each  with  four  ambulance  driv- 
ers, made  a  tour  of  the  postes,  so  that  at  least  some  of  the 
boys  might  be  familiar  with  all  the  roads. 

At  seven  the  following  evening  the  repair  car  and  ten 
ambulances  started  for  the  G.B.D.  in  IMonastir,  Lieu- 
tenant Derode  and  I  immediately  following  with  the  staff 
car.  On  arriving,  we  designated  four  men  for  the  Ravine 
d'ltalienne,  a  poste  of  the  76th  Division;  four  for  the 
Roumanian  poste  of  the  30th  Division,  and  leaving  two 
at  the  G.B.D.  to  see  to  the  unloading  of  the  cars  there, 
and  the  evacuation  back  to  Holeven  and  Fiorina  if  neces- 
sary. 

At  eight  o'clock  it  was  sufficiently  dark  to  start,  and 
the  cars  left  for  the  postes.  At  the  Ravine  d'ltalienne,  we 
parked  the  cars  in  the  lee  of  a  stone  bridge  and  were 
joined  by  three  hrancardiers. 

Brush  fires,  started  by  exploding  shells,  blazed  on  the 
mountains  on  either  side,  and  farther  up  the  valley  the 
fields  were  afire  just  behind  the  Bulgar  front  lines.  All 
the  French  artillery,  from  the  little  mountain  batteries 
up  in  the  hills  to  the  big  "210's"  in  the  outskirts  of  Mon- 
astir  were  pounding  away,  and  the  Bulgars  were  reply- 
ing, though  to  a  less  extent,  and  apparently  directing  their 
fire  down  into  the  town.  The  heavens  seemed  a  writhing, 
shrieking  waste  of  sound,  but  all  of  a  sudden,  about  nine 
o'clock,  the  firing  ceased,  emphasizing  the  deep  stillness 
of  the  night,  broken  only  by  occasional  rifle-fire  and  the 

389 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


sharp  rat-ta-tat-tat  of  the  mitrailleuses  out  ahead.  Then 
the  moon  came  up  over  the  mountains,  bathing  every- 
thing in  a  soft  white  Hght,  and  for  the  moment  making 
us  and  our  cars  seem  frightfully  conspicuous. 

In  a  few  moments  Lieutenant  Derode  appeared  for  a 
final  inspection  and  to  warn  the  boys  under  no  circum- 
stances to  bring  in  cadavres.  About  quarter  of  ten  the 
cars  began  to  roll  steadily,  and  as  they  returned,  after 
evacuating  their  loads  at  the  G.B.D.y  were  directed,  ac- 
cording to  the  last  reports  of  the  number  of  blesses,  to 
one  poste  or  another.  Along  toward  2.30  a.m.  things  com- 
menced to  slacken,  and  all  cars  but  three,  one  at  each 
poste,  and  one  at  the  road  junction,  ready  to  move  up, 
were  sent  in.  All  three  came  in  before  daybreak.  At 
the  G.B.D.  the  Medecin  Divisionnaire  instructed  us  that 
the  hospital  must  be  evacuated  before  evening,  so  we 
telephoned  to  the  cantonnement  at  Bistrica  and  got  all 
remaining  cars  rolling.  By  noon  our  work  was  pretty  well 
cleaned  up. 

This  was  the  last  real  activity  of  Section  Three.  From 
then  on  we  kept  our  usual  programme;  two  cars  at  the 
G.B.D,  in  Monastir  to  answer  calls  from  the  pastes,  and 
each  morning  the  required  number  of  cars  to  evacuate 
back  to  Holeven,  Velusini,  or  Fiorina  and  occasional 
calls  from  a  radius  of  thirty  kilometres.  On  September  6 
and  2^  we  received  two  new  batches  of  men  as  replace- 
ments, a  number  of  the  old  members  returning  to  France. 
We  kept  busy  building  mud  and  stone  houses  for  winter 
quarters,  improving  our  road  out  as  far  as  the  main  road, 
and  giving  all  the  ambulances  a  thorough  overhauling. 
On  October  8  we  got  news  from  the  Pare  d 'Autos  at 
Salon ica  that  we  were  to  be  recalled,  and  on  the  9th 
came  fifteen  French  drivers,  whom  we  were  to  break  in 
on  our  Fords  and  work.  As  soon  as  they  took  over  the 
service  we  prepared  to  leave. 

At  noon  on  the  i6th,  Lieutenant  Derode  called  the 
whole  Section  together,  and  in  a  few  words  of  heartfelt 
thanks,  and  regret  at  parting,  bade  us  good-bye;  and 

390 


SECTION  THREE 


read  the  following  order  from  the  General  Commanding 
the  76th  Division,  to  which  the  Section  had  been  attached: 

Au  moment  ou  les  conducteurs  am^ricains  de  la  Section  Sani- 
taire  A.U.  3  vont  quitter  I'Orlent  pour  aller  continuer  leurs  ser- 
vices sur  le  sol  frangais,  le  General  Commandant  I'Armee  Fran- 
^aise  d'Orient  adresse  ses  felicitations  au  Chef  et  aux  hommes 
composant  le  personnel  de  cette  Section,  pour  I'intrepidite, 
I'entrain  et  le  devouement  dont  chacun  d'eux  a  donne  le  plus 
beau  temoignage  au  cours  des  operations  de  guerre  qui  se  sont 
succede  depuis  Decembre  1916  dans  le  secteur  de  Monastir. 

Grace  aux  qualites  d'endurance,  de  bravoure  et  de  sang-froid 
dont  ce  personnel  a  fait  preuve  dans  maintes  circonstances,  de 
nombreux  soldats  frangais,  souvent  grievement  blesses,  ont 
pu  recevoir  rapidement  les  soins  necessaires  qui  leur  ont  sauve 
la  vie. 

En  s'eloignant  de  la  Macedoine,  ou  les  volontaires  americains 
ont  fait  apprecier  leur  concours  si  precieux,  ces  valUant  aux- 
iliaires  emportent  avec  eux  les  regrets  unanimes,  la  gratitude 
de  tous  nos  blesses  et  la  reconnaissance  de  I'Armee  Fran^aise 
d'Orient. 

Signe:  Regnault 

John  N.  d'Este^ 


^  Of  Salem,  Massachusetts;  Harvard,  '10;  joined  the  Field  Service  in 
September,  19 16;  served  in  Section  Eight  and  as  Chef  of  Section  Three 
until  November,  1917;  subsequently  a  Second  Lieutenant  in  U.S.  Artillery. 


Section  Four 

THE  STORY  TOLD  BY 

I.  George  Rockwell,  Jr. 
II.  Richard  C.  Ware 

III.  William  de  Ford  Bigelow 

IV.  Leon  H.  Buckler 

V.  Charles  H.  Hunkins 
VI.  Hugh  J.  Kelleher 


SUMMARY 

Section  Four  left  Paris  for  Lorraine  in  November,  1915,  and 
after  a  few  weeks,  at  Vaucouleurs,  spent  the  ensuing  winter 
and  spring  in  the  Toul-Flirey  sector.  In  June,  191 6,  it  moved 
to  Ippecourt  for  the  great  battle  of  Verdun,  where  it  had  the 
distinction  of  being  the  first  of  the  Field  Service  sections  to 
serve  the  famous  pastes  at  Marre  and  Esnes.  For  nearly  a  year 
the  Section  remained  in  the  region  of  Ippecourt  and  Rarecourt 
in  the  Verdun  sector.  In  May,  1917,  it  moved  on  to  Cham- 
pagne, where  it  remained  for  two  months;  then  it  went  back 
again  to  Verdun,  this  time  to  the  Bras-Vacherauville  sector. 
It  was  at  this  point  that  the  Section  enlisted  with  the  United 
States  Army  in  the  autumn  of  191 7,  as  Section  Six-Twenty- 
Seven. 


Section  Four 

Broke  to  every  known  mischance,  lifted  over  all 

By  the  light  sane  joy  of  life,  the  buckler  of  the  Gaul, 

Furious  in  luxury,  merciless  in  toil, 

Terrible  with  strength  that  draws  from  her  tireless  soil, 

Strictest  judge  of  her  own  worth,  gentlest  of  man's  mind, 

First  to  follow  truth  and  last  to  leave  old  truths  behind  — 

France  beloved  of  every  soul  that  loves  its  fellow-kind! 

RuDYARD  Kipling 

I 

Section  Four's  Beginning 

The  night  before  we  were  to  leave  Paris  early  in  Novem- 
ber, 19 1 5,  we  had  a  dinner  with  the  officers  of  the  Field 
Service.  There  were  not  many  speeches,  but  we  were  re- 
minded that  we  were  in  charge  of  one  of  the  best-equipped 
Sections  which  had  as  yet  taken  the  field,  and  that  we 
were  going  to  the  front  in  an  auxiliary  capacity  to  take 
the  place  of  Frenchmen  needed  for  the  sterner  work  of 
the  trenches.  We  might  be  sent  immediately  to  the  front 
or  kept  for  a  while  in  the  rear;  but  in  any  event  there  were 
sick  and  wounded  to  be  carried  and  our  job  was  to  help 
by  obeying  orders. 

Early  the  next  morning  we  ran  through  the  Bois-de- 
Boulogne  and  over  an  historic  route  to  Versailles,  where, 
at  the  Headquarters  of  the  Army  Automobile  Service, 
our  cars  were  numbered  with  a  military  serial  and  the 
driver  of  each  was  given  a  livret  matricule,  which  is  an 
open  sesame  for  gasoline  and  tires  at  every  motor  park  in 
France.  Those  details  were  completed  about  ten  o'clock, 
and  we  felt  at  last  as  if  we  were  French  soldiers  driving 
French  automobiles  on  the  way  to  our  place  at  the  French 
front. 

395 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


About  thirty  kilometres  outside  of  Paris  the  staff  car 
and  the  camionnette  with  the  cook  on  board  dashed  by  us, 
and  upon  our  arrival  at  a  quaint  little  village  we  found  a 
cafe  requisitioned  for  our  use  and  its  stock  of  meat,  bread, 
and  red  wine  in  profusion  at  our  disposal.  In  the  evening 
we  reached  the  town  of  Esternay  and  there  again  all  was 
prepared  for  our  reception.  Rooms  were  requisitioned  and 
the  good  people  took  us  in  with  open  arms  and  the  warm- 
est of  hospitality.  But  one  or  two  of  us  had  to  spread  our 
blankets  over  the  stretchers  in  the  back  of  our  cars,  be- 
cause there  were  not  enough  rooms  and  beds  for  all. 

The  next  morning  was  much  colder;  there  was  some 
snow  and  later  a  heavy  fog.  Our  convoy  got  under  way 
shortly  after  breakfast,  and  ran  in  record-breaking  time, 
for  we  wanted  to  finish  our  trip  that  evening.  We  stopped 
for  lunch  and  for  an  inspection  which  consumed  two 
hours,  and  starting  about  ten  o'clock  on  the  last  stretch 
of  our  journey,  drove  all  the  afternoon  through  sleet,  cold, 
and  snow. 

In  Lorraine 

At  seven  o'clock  that  night  we  reached  Vaucouleurs,  had 
our  supper,  secured  sleeping  accommodations,  and  re- 
tired. Our  running  orders  had  been  completed;  we  had 
reached  our  destination  in  perfect  form.  Several  days 
passed.  We  were  inspected  by  generals  and  other  officers, 
all  of  whom  seemed  pleased  with  the  conipleteness  of  our 
Section;  yet  improvements,  they  said,  were  still  possible 
and  should  be  made  while  we  were  at  the  park.  We  were 
told  that  we  w^ere  to  take  care  of  a  service  of  evacuation 
of  the  sick  in  that  district  and  at  the  same  time  try  out  a 
''heating  system"  for  our  cars. 

We  were  at  Vaucouleurs  in  all  six  weeks,  including 
Thanksgiving,  Christmas,  and  New  Year's  Day.  Our 
work  consisted  of  evacuating  malades,  and  at  first  it 
offered  the  opportunity  of  teaching  the  green  ones  how 
to  care  for  their  cars.  But  we  were  all  soon  put  on  our 
mettle. 

396 


SECTION  FOUR 


The  outlying  country  was  full  of  lowlands  and  streams 
which  in  many  places  during  the  hard  rains  covered  the 
roads  to  such  a  depth  that  the  usual  type  of  French  car 
could  not  operate.  Our  car  suspension  was  high,  and  we 
were  thus  able  to  perform  a  service  the  others  could  not. 
We  established,  too,  a  standard  for  prompt  service 
and  during  the  weeks  we  were  at  Vaucouleurs  we  never 
delayed  a  call  on  account  of  ''high  water."  In  fact,  we 
left  this  district  for  other  labor  with  a  record  of  never 
having  missed  a  call,  and  the  promptness  of  service,  day 
or  night,  was  often  a  matter  of  comment  by  the  French 
officials  connected  with  this  work.  During  this  flooded 
period  certain  pastes  accustomed  to  telephone  for  an  am- 
bulance would  ask  for  an  American  ambulance  "boat," 
and  the  story  was  soon  about  that  we  had  water  lines 
painted  on  the  cars  as  gauges  for  depths  through  which 
we  could  pass.  On  one  occasion  I  was  in  the  middle  of  a 
swirling  rapid  with  the  nearest ''  land  "  one  hundred  yards 
away.  But  I  had  to  get  through,  because  I  had  on  board 
a  pneumonia  patient  with  a  high  fever,  so  I  opened  the 
throttle  and  charged.  When  I  got  to  the  other  side  I  was 
hitting  on  only  two  cylinders,  but  as  mine  was  the  only 
car  that  day  to  get  through  at  all,  I  boasted  long  after- 
wards of  my  ambulance's  "fording"  ability. 

In  the  Toul  Sector 

We  were  always  looking  forward  to  being  moved  and 
attached  to  some  division  within  the  First  Army,  and,  as 
promised,  the  order  came.  Our  service  in  this  district  w^as 
completed,  and  on  the  morning  of  January  5,  19 16,  our 
convoy  moved  up  to  Lay-Saint-Remy.  Our  work  here 
included  pastes  de  secours  that  were  intermittently  under 
fire,  and  several  of  the  places  could  be  reached  only  at 
night,  being  in  daylight  within  plain  view  of  the  German 
gunners. 

Here  again  we  remained  only  a  short  time.  Without 
any  warning  we  received  an  order  one  evening  to  proceed 
the  next  day  to  Toul.  This  meant  7  A.M.,  and  so  all  night 

397 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


we  were  busy  filling  our  gasoline  tanks,  cleaning  spark- 
plugs, and  getting  a  dismantled  car  in  shape  to  ''roll." 

The  trip  to  Toul  was  without  incident,  and  when  we 
drew  up  at  the  caserne,  which  proved  to  be  our  quarters 
for  several  months,  we  reported  as  ready  for  immediate 
work.  Five  cars  were  regularly  stationed  at  Grosrouvres, 
a  secondary  poste  de  secours  about  ten  kilometres  from 
the  lines,  and  two  cars  farther  forward  at  the  Carriere  de 
Fllrey,  a  first-line  poste  de  secours.  The  rest  of  the  ambu- 
lances formed  a  reserve  at  our  base  to  relieve  daily  those 
cars  and  take  care  of  such  emergency  calls  as  might  come 
in,  day  or  night.  Then,  as  soon  as  we  proved  our  worth, 
we  were  given  other  similar  points  on  the  lines,  and  grad- 
ually took  over  the  work  of  the  French  Section  working 
with  the  next  Army  division. 

Seicheprey  and  the  Bois  de  Jury  were  two  of  our 
postes  the  first  being  but  four  hundred  yards  from  the 
Boche  trenches.  All  winter  we  kept  up  this  and  evacua- 
tion work  from  the  hospital  at  Menil-la-Tour  and  the 
hospital  at  Toul.  In  the  middle  of  February  we  had  two 
cars  at  Jouy,  and  there  we  served  the  postes  of  Xivray, 
Bouconville,  Barriere  d'Apremont,  Rambucourt,  and 
Beaumont,  while  at  the  same  time  we  took  over  the  evac- 
uation work  at  Aulnois,  Void,  and  Pagny,  which  gave  us 
all  the  ambulance  work  between  Apremont  and  Limey, 
a  front  of  twenty  kilometres,  and  the  work  of  two  divi- 
sions. The  Section  had  its  hands  full,  until  June,  when  we 
had  a  few  days  repos  at  Bayon.  But  by  the  15th,  we  again 
began  work,  this  time  in  the  great  battle  of  Verdun. 

George  Rockwell,  Jr.^ 


1  Of  Waterbury,  Connecticut;  joined  the  Service  in  February',  1915,  serv- 
ing with  Section  One  and,  as  Sous-Chef,  with  Section  Four  until  August, 
19 16.  Later  obtained  a  commission  in  U.S.  Aviation. 


PEESENTED  BY 

STUDENTS  AND  FRIENDS 

If  BROWN  UNIVERSirr  PilO  VID  E  NCE 

R.I      U.S.  A 


THE  "CAT"  OF  "SECTION  QUATRE" 

Siae-door  of  one  o(  the  cars,  witli  the  memorial  plaque  which 

each  ambulance  in  the  Service  bore 


II 

Calls  at  Nightfall 

At  TouI,  we  handled  practically  the  entire  first-line 
Ambulance  Service  of  two  divisions,  embracing  the  front 
covered  by  the  loist  Division  from  Girauvoisin  to  Xivray, 
and  that  from  Xivray  to  Noviant,  the  province  of  the 
64th.  In  addition,  we  took  care  of  the  greater  part  of  the 
evacuation  work  between  the  various  ambulances  and 
hospitals  back  of  the  lines. 

Of  the  two  sectors,  that  of  the  loist  Division  was  the 
least  interesting  and  most  confining ;  calls  were  not  very 
frequent  —  seldom  as  many  as  two  a  night  —  and  usually 
nothing  to  do  all  day,  yet  the  men  had  to  stay  always 
within  reach,  and  any  walking  other  than  through  the 
little  village  of  Jouy  was  out  of  the  question.  Quarters 
were  in  an  old  wine-cellar  —  a  long,  stone-arched  room 
dug  half  into  the  hillside,  with  a  single  attic-story  over 
it  —  lighted  dimly  by  a  tiny  window  at  either  end,  and 
very  inadequately  heated  by  a  small,  wood-burning  stove. 
Along  both  sides  were  ranged  wOoden  frames,  knocked 
together  and  filled  with  straw,  the  bunks  of  the  unusually 
noisy  group  of  brancardiers,  or  stretcher-bearers,  with 
whom  we  were  quartered.  .  .  . 

After  supper  the  fire  is  filled  up,  the  brancardiers 
gather  in  chattering  groups  or  slip  into  their  bunks;  the 
overloaded  flue  is  unequal  to  the  volume  of  smoke, 
which  gathers  in  a  blue  cloud  overhead,  thicker  and 
thicker  —  lower  and  lower  —  will  the  fire  give  out  be- 
fore the  smoke  level  reaches  the  sleepers? 

The  calls  at  Jouy  usually  come  in  about  nightfall,  just 
as  the  long  ravitaillement,  or  supply  trains,  are  starting 
for  the  front  under  cover  of  the  darkness.  This  makes  the 
running  unusually  difficult:  M.  Merland,  the  genial 
young  medecin  auxiliare,  in  private  life  a  medical  student, 
takes  his  seat  beside  me  and  with  a  whirr  of  the  motor 

399 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


we  are  off  through  the  darkness.  Dark,  indeed!  for  no 
lights  are  allowed  nor  auto  horn  or  Klaxon  to  clear  the 
track  ahead.  It  is  nervous  work  at  best,  for  the  roads  are 
narrow  and  running  with  mud,  and  while  hard  enough 
in  the  middle,  give  way  to  veritable  bogs  on  either  side 
where  the  "metalling"  or  stone  surface  ends,  and  beyond 
this  the  inevitable  deep  ditch  of  this  part  of  France. 
Unlucky  he  who  gives  too  generous  a  berth  to  the  passing 
wagon!  But,  in  addition,  we  have  to  pass  an  almost  end- 
less stream  of  ravitaillement — /owrgow^,  caissons,  two- 
wheel  carts  loaded  with  full-length  young  trees,  a  very 
dangerous  combination  to  pass,  coming  and  going, 
appear  suddenly  out  of  the  darkness,  and  slide  silently 
by  —  great  camions  (auto-trucks)  of  some  twelve  tons 
loom  out  of  the  nothingness  ahead  and  thunder  down 
upon  us  —  I  have  a  fleeting  vision  of  a  little  tin  ''flivver" 
ground  into  a  mass  of  junk  and  jelly  in  the  mud,  and  only 
a  quick  turn  of  the  wheel  averts  a  collision.  Always  there 
is  the  shrill  whistle  or  Merland's  sharp  "d  droite''  at  the 
critical  moment  —  and  always  our  luck  is  with  us,  for 
we  are  near  the  head  of  the  column  when  we  halt  outside 
the  town  to  wait  till  the  Germans'  evening  bombardment 
of  Gironville  is  finished.  V\e  watch  the  shells  bursting  — 
sharp  flashes  in  the  gloom;  there  is  a  pause  of  a  couple 
of  minutes,  and  we  move  on  again. 

We  reach  Gironville  and  run  down  its  narrow  street, 
hemmed  in  on  the  left  by  the  whitewashed  stucco  backs 
of  the  houses,  on  the  right  by  the  little  extra-narrow- 
gauge  military  railway  —  that  elastic  ribbon  of  ready- 
made  sections,  like  the  children's  toy,  which  follows  hard 
on  the  heels  of  the  front-line  army  —  horse-operated, 
hand-operated,  engine-operated  indiscriminately,  as  oc- 
casion serves  —  and  which  twists  and  winds  up  hill  and 
down  dale,  through  field  and  wood,  but  by  preference 
using  the  road,  where  it  is  a  constant  menace  to  the  little 
ambulance,  a-wayfaring  on  a  dark  night. 

*'ArretezI  Qui  est  Id?"  —  and  the  motor  races  a  mo- 
ment as  we  throw  out  the  clutch  at  the  sudden  summons. 

400 


SECTION  FOUR 


''Ambulance  Americaine,  Thiaucoiirt,"  we  reply,  and 
at  the  countersign  the  proffered  bayonet  is  lowered,  and 
turning  sharply  to  the  right  we  slide  down  to  the  long, 
level,  really  excellent  road  to  Broussey.  It  seems  clear 
for  the  moment,  and  we  open  up,  cautiously;  the  road 
glimmers  faintly  before  us,  spectral  figures  appear  sud- 
denly ahead,  and  at  the  whistle  melt  into  the  darkness  at 
the  roadside:  the  long,  ghostly  procession  of  bare  trees, 
just  discernible  against  the  sky,  glides  by  —  and  again 
we  halt  before  the  sentinel  at  Broussey. 

A  sharp  turn  to  the  left  in  the  middle  of  the  shot-torn 
town  —  through  the  lattice  screens  placed  across  the 
road  to  shield  the  passing  on  the  main  street  from  the 
Boche  observing  stations  in  the  trenches  and  on  ''le  vieux 
Mont  Sec''  which  dominates  the  region  —  to  the  right 
again,  and  we  are  on  the  winding  road  to  Bouconville. 

At  Bouconville 

Still  more  ''shot  up"  is  Bouconville,  and  as  we  run  up 
the  long  street  we  can  dimly  see  the  sky  through  shell- 
holes  in  roof  and  gable,  or  catch  a  fleeting  glimpse  of 
skeleton  rafters,  gaunt  and  blackened.  We  turn  silently 
up  to  the  ruined  church,  and  circling,  stop  the  motor  at 
the  poste  de  secours,  underground  in  the  corner  of  the 
little  churchyard.  A  few  dim  figures  are  visible  —  silent 
save  for  occasional  whispers. 

'*  Vos  blesses,  sont-ils  prets .?"  —  we  whisper  also. 

*'Il  y  a  un  qui  n'est  pas  encore  arrive  des  tranchees." 

*'Et  combien  en  tons  ?  —  couches  ou  assis  ?  " 

"  Trois,  dont  deux  couches.'" 

We  wait  a  few  minutes,  and  presently  our  assis  is 
brought  out,  moving  heavily  and  clumsily  in  his  great 
capote  and  broad,  hobnailed  shoes. 

''Attention  a  votre  teteT'  —  the  roof  is  low  —  and  he  is 
seated  "  bien  en  avant "  —  musettes  and  knapsack  and  rifle 
packed  in  after  him  —  "Rosalie  —  n'oubliez  pas  ma 
Rosalie!''  and  the  long,  slender  bayonet,  with  its  heavy 
cartridge  belt,  is  given  due  place. 

401 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


The  supports  for  the  third  or  upper  stretcher  are  low- 
ered and  fastened,  and  one  of  the  couches,  not  seriously 
wounded,  is  lifted  on  his  stretcher  and  slid  into  place. 
The  other  is  a  grave  hlesse  —  both  legs  badly  cut  up  by 
an  eclat  —  one  will  probably  have  to  be  amputated.  Very 
gently  his  stretcher  is  pushed  into  place,  and  very  gently 
we  start  on  our  return  trip. 

But  soon  there  is  a  sharp  tap  on  the  little  window  be- 
hind my  head,  and  the  assis  calls  out,  as  we  open,  that 
there  is  trouble  with  the  grave  hlesse.  Sure  enough  there 
is  a  tiny  stream  of  blood  dripping  out  from  under  the 
tail-board,  and  Merland  is  galvanized  into  quick  action. 
Flashlight  in  hand  —  carefully  shielded,  however,  lest 
the  Boches  see  us  —  he  tightens  the  pansement,  straining 
on  the  bandage  until  the  slow,  full  dripping  ceases  —  and 
once  more  we  are  en  route,  Merland  now  riding  inside. 
Again,  after  passing  Broussey,  we  stop  while  the  anxious 
auxiliaire  looks  over  his  charge,  still  further  tightening 
the  dressing;  but  strength  is  ebbing  fast,  and  just  outside 
Jouy  we  halt  for  a  third  time,  take  out  the  assis  and  the 
other  couche,  while  Merland  tries  to  give  a  hypodermic. 
But  the  needle  breaks,  and  loading  up,  we  speed  into  the 
town  and  draw  up  at  the  hospice  just  as  the  first  shell  of 
the  renewed  bombardment  screams  in  down  the  street. 
Merland  hurries  in,  attendants  appear  —  we  dismount 
our  patient  to  the  ground,  and  the  Medecin  Chef,  who 
comes  out  on  the  run,  feels  the  flagging  pulse,  and  quickly 
gives  the  required  injection. 

''Allez!  —  allez  viteT'  —  and  we  are  off  again.  No 
regard  now  to  sparing  pain  —  speed  is  the  essential,  and 
the  little  motor  hums  busily  to  advanced  spark  and  open 
throttle.  Just  outside  Jouy  we  round  a  corner  and  are 
out  of  sight  of  Mont  Sec,  so  stop  a  moment  to  light  the 
headlamps;  and  with  their  aid  increased  speed  is  attain- 
able. At  Aulnois  the  assis  and  the  less  seriously  injured 
couche  are  left;  once  more  our  "bad  case"  is  given  a 
hypodermic,  and  again  we  are  off. 

The  long  run  on  to  Void  is  uneventful  —  no  further 

402 


SECTION  FOUR 


serious  loss  of  blood,  but  a  steady  loss  of  strength.  How- 
ever, our  patient  still  retains  consciousness,  and  we  start 
on  our  homeward  journey  with  the  warming  assurance 
that  he  will  pull  through. 

And  as  I  put  the  car  away,  the  last  shell  of  the  eve- 
ning's bombardment  snarls  in  and  bursts  a  hundred  yards 
up  the  street. 

The  Carrijere  de  Flirey 

The  Carrlere  de  Flirey!  Always  it  appears  to  my  inner 
mind  as  I  first  saw,  or  rather  sensed  it,  for  it  was  well- 
nigh  pitch  dark.  It  was  my  first  tour  on  the  Grosrouvres 
service,  and  I  had  already  had  one  call  to  battered,  ex- 
posed Seicheprey  earlier  in  the  evening,  leaving  my 
blesses  at  Menil-la-Tour  and  returning  about  lo  p.m.  to 
tumble  into  my  sketchy  bunk  for  what  sleep  might  be 
my  fortune.  But  at  two  o'clock  came  the  fateful  steps 
outside  the  door,  and  ''Froggie,"  the  telephonist,  peered 
in,  ''Carrier el  Cest  vous  qui  parte?''  —  for  neither  of 
the  other  slumberers,  having  come  in  after  me,  had  moved. 
''Old,'"  and  I  tumbled  out,  and  shortly,  with  a  hrancardier 
beside  me,  was  spinning  off  toward  Bernecourt ;  spinning, 
that  is,  as  fast  as  the  ferociously  bad  road  and  the  still 
thick  traffic  would  allow.  We  rocked  through  the  boulders 
of  Bernecourt,  and  bore  away  along  a  road  new  to  me, 
and  for  half  a  mile  or  so,  pleasantly  smooth.  Then  it  got 
suddenly  and  surprisingly  rough— ''Old  shell-holes — • 
there  is  a  battery  right  beside  the  road,  and  the  Boches 
try  for  it  all  the  time,"  remarked  my  comrade.  We  passed 
the  repaired  part  and  swung  in  through  cloudy  woods 
that  seemed  at  once  to  engulf  us,  the  road,  and  what 
little  glimmer  there  had  been,  in  one  all-smothering 
blackness. 

More  by  touch  and  feel  than  by  sight,  we  swung  around 
the  corner  and  down  the  hill  toward  where  a  feeble  point 
of  light  served  merely  to  dazzle  and  to  render  the  sur- 
rounding blackness  still  more  impenetrable  —  and  — 
''Halte-ldr*  —  my  guide  being  only  less  new  to  the  place 

403 


;THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 

than  myself  —  brought  up  short  almost  against  great 
sandbag  barriers,  where  an  inquiring  sentry  held  an 
embarrassingly  long  bayonet  just  where  it  would  most 
interfere  with  my  internal  economy.  We  had  overrun  our 
turning,  so,  backing  carefully  a  hundred  yards,  we  came 
to  a  gently  sloping  branch  leading  down  past  the  bother- 
ing light  to  a  road  up  the  middle  of  a  long  trough  of 
blackness.  Backing  the  car  into  a  broad  shed,  I  followed 
my  guide  to  a  door  a  few  yards  away,  which  we  entered, 
to  find,  by  the  momentary  flicker  of  a  match,  a  rough, 
board-lined  room,  with  seven  or  eight  bunks,  and  a  small, 
cold  stove.  One  bunk  was  empty,  and  bidding  my  com- 
rade good-night  as  he  left  for  his  own  quarters,  I  turned 
in,  and  in  spite  of  entire  absence  of  ventilation  was  soon 
sleeping  with  the  best  of  them  to  a  lullaby  of  occasional 
sharp  rafales  from  one  or  two  batteries  of  "75's"  close  at 
hand. 

The  Carri^re  de  Flirey  shows  by  day  a  narrow  ravine, 
running  east  from  the  road  to  Flirey,  and  parallel  to  the 
trenches :  a  gray  road  along  the  centre,  between  the  slopes 
on  either  side  thickly  covered  with  slim  young  growth  — 
a  ribbon  of  the  little,  narrow-gauge  hand-and-horse- 
railway  that  the  French  use  to  such  good  advantage, 
along  its  southern,  wooded  slope.  And  the  northern  slope, 
all  rich  browns  and  reds;  soft  creams  and  yellows,  from 
the  torn  earth  and  rock,  and  honeycombed  with  a  quad- 
ruple row  of  shacks  of  all  kinds,  built  back  into  the  abris 
or  dugouts,  in  the  solid  hillside.  And  yet,  such  are  the 
exigencies  of  modern  warfare,  where  the  all-seeing  eye 
of  the  aeroplane  is  ever  overhead,  the  necessity  for  con- 
cealment, for  protective  coloring,  has  made  what  would 
else  be  raw  and  tawdry  a  thing  of  real  charm  and  interest. 
Branches  of  evergreen  hide  fresh  stonework;  rough,  gen- 
erous blotches  of  brown,  green,  and  black  paint  trans- 
form staring  wood  surfaces  to  the  quiet  tones  of  field 
and  wood;  and  corrugated  iron  roofing  is  hidden  under 
great  crossed  beams,  which  are  in  turn  covered  with 
generous  layers  of  earth  and  rock.  So  that,  save  for  the 

404 


SECTION  FOUR 


darkness  of  opened  doors  and  windows,  there  is  little 
revealed  to  the  scouting  aeroplane  of  the  busy  life  within 
—  the  electric  power  station,  the  telephone  exchange, 
the  operating-room,  offices,  supply  chambers,  what- 
not. 

Across  the  end  of  the  Carriere,  the  road  leads  through 
the  barriers,  around  the  shoulder  of  the  hill,  down  through 
desolate  Flirey,  and  out  through  the  German  lines. 
Across  the  road  are  trenches,  hoyaux,  and  yet  more 
trenches,  in  the  straggling  ranks  of  modern  military 
science  —  out  and  out  to  No  Man's  Land.  And  back  of 
the  trenches,  woods,  and  yet  more  woods;  and  here, 
there,  and  everywhere,  in  all  sorts  of  likely  and  unlikely 
places,  the  big  and  little  guns  of  France  —  never  tiring, 
never  sleeping. 

The  Carriere  de  Flirey  —  a  busy  and  a  mauvais  endroit. 
Overhead  tore  the  French  shells,  with  the  sound  of  rip- 
ping cotton;  or  the  German  shells  sailed  over,  bound  for 
villages  far  back,  with  a  sort  of  protesting  whimper  — 
or  swished  in  on  us  with  a  sudden,  indescribably  vicious 
snarl.  From  around  us  came  the  booming  roar  of  the  big 
guns,  or  the  peculiarly  sharp  bark  of  the  '*75's";and  from 
those  located  behind  us  there  was  an  unusual  echo  effect 
that  I  have  heard  nowhere  else —  "Oom  pow !  oom  — 
poiv  I  oom  —  pow  r'  —  would  come  the  ear-splitting  salvo, 
and  the  little  shells,  in  which  the  poilu  rightly  places  so 
much  trust,  would  tear  away  overhead. 

A  mauvais  endroit  —  here  men  were  killed  and  wounded 
almost  at  our  sides  —  Adamson  saw  two  killed  within 
five  or  six  yards  of  him.  Here  the  road  winding  down  to 
the  valley  was  under  direct  observation  from  the  German 
drachen  or  observation  balloon  over  behind  Flirey  —  how 
we  did  hate  that  balloon !  —  and  the  enemy  artillery  had 
accurately  registered  it,  so  that,  day  or  night,  those 
traversing  it  had  to  take  their  medicine  as  It  came. 

And  the  Flirey  front  was  bad,  too  —  never  a  rest  for 
the  troops,  for  they  were  always  under  fire;  and  ever  the 
freshly  wounded  were  brought  back  to  the  little  dressing- 

405 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


station,  whence  we  hurried  them  back  to  final  treatment; 
and  ever  the  little  wattled  morgue  received  new  inmates, 
and  silently,  day  by  day,  the  long  cemetery  across  the 
road  grew  and  spread  along  the  curving  valley. 

The  Carriere  serv^ice  being  the  most  important,  the 
entire  activities  of  the  Grosrouvres  Squad  revolved  about 
it;  one  car  was  kept  in  the  shed  "garage"  in  the  little 
valley,  the  conducteur  living  with  the  hrancardiers,  and 
eating,  now  in  the  little  iron-roofed  ''kitchen "  dug  back 
into  the  hillside  above,  or  again  with  some  of  the  friendly 
officers,  or  with  M.  Harel,  the  genial  aumonier  of  the 
Division,  black-bearded  and  efficient.  Cases  of  minor 
importance,  sickness  or  slight  wounds,  were  kept  till 
there  were  enough  to  make  a  load  —  but  graves  blesses  or 
seriously  sick  men  were  sent  in  to  Toul  at  once.  The 
departure  of  the  ambulance  at  any  time,  day  or  night,  was 
signal  for  a  telephone  message  to  Grosrouvres  for  another 
car,  which  usually  arrived  a  few  minutes  after  the  first 
had  left,  so  that  the  poste  was  always  covered.  Indeed, 
the  sending  in  of  blesses  from  the  trenches  was  always 
telephoned  from  the  trench  station  to  the  Carriere,  so 
that  the  operating-room  might  be  in  readiness,  and  on 
such  occasions  the  relief  car  was  usually  telephoned  for 
at  once,  and  arrived  often  before  the  first  ambulance 
had  started  away. 

At  Seicheprey  in  191 6 

The  cars  not  on  duty  at  the  Carriere  —  two  or  three, 
depending  on  whether  or  not  Flirey  was  busy  requiring 
a  car  en  remplacement  —  the  remaining  cars  of  the  Squad 
took  care  of  calls  from  the  other  posies  along  the  front, 
and  of  the  towns  lying  farther  back.  Seicheprey,  down 
in  the  valley,  badly  ruined,  and  fully  exposed  to  gun-  and 
rifle-fire  —  as  was  also  the  white  road  pitching  down  into 
it  —  we  visited  only  at  night.  Even  then  there  were 
occasions  when  some  of  our  drivers  had  their  thrilling 
moments,  as  when  Dayton's  heavily  loaded  wheels  re- 
fused to  grip  the  mud,  leaving  his  car  for  long  minutes 

406 


SECTION  FOUR 


clearly  outlined  In  the  blaze  of  one  of  the  rare  moonlit 
nights,  apparently  Immovable  and  well  in  range  of  the 
ever-nearing  rifle  bullets;  a  providential  cloud,  a  blanket 
under  the  wheel,  and  no  damage  done. 

Daylight  runs  to  the  poste  de  secours  of  the  Bols  de 
Jury  had,  as  was  pointed  out  In  a  special  commendation 
from  the  Division,  never  been  undertaken  prior  to  the 
advent  of  the  Section.  The  road  led  from  Beaumont 
along  a  crest  fully  exposed  to  observation  from  Mont 
Sec —  le  vieux  Mo7it  Sec,  as  the  poilus  termed  It,  much  as 
we  would  say  "the  old  Nick  "  —  it  being  held  and  gunned 
by  the  Germans.  And  as  the  road  and  its  vicinity  were  not 
infrequently  thoroughly  shelled  by  the  Boches  in  their 
search  for  French  batteries,  and  as  one  felt  that  to  a 
part,  at  least,  of  the  enemy  forces  the  Red  Cross  meant 
nothing,  the  daylight  traverse  was  not  without  its  thrill. 

Making  "The  Route" 

Beaumont  and  Mandres,  Hamonvllle  and  Ansauvllle, 
Bernecourt  and  Noviant,  all  had  to  be  visited ;  sickness, 
accidents,  wounds  —  the  towns  were  full  of  soldiers  in 
reserve,  and  all  had  to  be  cared  for.  And  even  well  back 
of  the  lines  there  was  often  "excitement"  for  us.  I  well 
remember  the  creepy-crawly  feeling  up  and  down  my 
spine  as  a  shell  snored  and  snarled  along,  following  my 
car  in  a  direct  line  as  I  entered  Ansauville,  and  the  feeling 
of  relief  as  it  passed  close  overhead,  after  all,  to  burst  on 
the  far  side  of  a  row  of  houses  just  ahead.  And  there  is 
also  Allen's  vivid  description  of  his  passage  through 
Hamonvllle  with  a  load  of  assis,  to  the  alternate  tune  of 
ohus  snarling  in  and  earnest  beseeching  from  his  pas- 
sengers to  ''Allezl  —  allez!  —  allez!  —  " 

And  at  Grosrouvres  itself,  well-placed  shells  threw  mud 
and  stones  over  our  already  well-muddied  cars;  on  an- 
other occasion  dropped  a  still  hot  fuse-head  at  Rantoul's 
feet,  and  again  was  deposited,  through  the  kitchen  ceiling, 
a  fresh,  hot  piece  of  eclat  in  our  salad.  But  the  kitchen 
was  empty  at  the  time,  for  on  the  occasions  when  these 

407 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


barracks  towns  were  honored  by  bombardments,  the  open 
fields  took  on  a  decidedly  populous  appearance. 

That  salad  was  not  our  only  culinary  experiment  — 
for  there  was  the  almost  equally  famous  occasion  when 
the  rat,  trying  to  navigate  the  chimney  above,  missed  his 
hold  and  fell,  like  Milton's  Satan  —  but  minus  his  flames 
—  down  the  great  fireplace,  and  square  into  our  coffee. 
Shelled  salad  was  one  thing,  but  caje  au  rat  —  alas !  we 
went  coffeeless  to  bed.  Rats!  They  were  a  pest  in  more 
ways  than  one  —  they  increased  and  multiplied  without 
stint;  they  ran  riot  through  our  Grosrouvres  quarters; 
they  ran  up  and  down  the  wall,  shrieking  anathema  at 
one  another;  they  fell  on  us  in  bed,  and  tried  to  hide 
crusts  beneath  our  pillows.  At  the  Carriere  they  per\'aded 
every  corner,  and  like  the  ghosts  in  "Julius  Caesar"  "did 
squeak  and  gibber"  round  the  shacks.  We  looked  in  vain 
for  a  Pied  Piper;  frankly,  I  see  no  hope  for  the  war  zone 
short  of  so  serious  a  food  shortage  that  M.  Rat  will  find 
a  place  on  the  menu. 

The  Grim  Reality 

These  were  the  lighter  sides  of  the  service;  but  ever 
there  was  the  grim  reality  of  the  devil's  work  going  on 
ahead.  At  first  the  wounds  were  mostly  from  shell  and 
occasionally  from  shrapnel;  then  gradually  the  percent- 
age of  grenade  wounds  rose;  and  toward  the  end  of  our 
stay,  ugly  things  from  trench  torpedoes  were  much  in 
evidence.  The  poor,  torn  fellows  were  brought  in  at  all 
times  of  the  day  and  night;  but  naturally  the  night  runs 
were  hardest.  The  first  fifteen  kilometres  had  to  be  cov- 
ered without  lights  of  any  kind,  and  this  over  the  worst 
possible  of  war- torn  roads.  It  seemed  inconceivable  that 
mere  traffic  could  so  completely  wreck  a  really  good 
French  road;  great  ruts,  holes,  deep  gullies  across  the 
highway,  made  the  poor  car  pitch  and  toss  and  roll 
drunkenly  like  a  logy  tramp  steamer  in  a  cross-chop  sea. 
Try  as  we  might  from  Bernecourt  to  Menil-la-Tour,  it 
was  impossible  to  prevent  racking  the  poor  blesses,  even 

408 


MISFORTUNES  OF   WAR! 


AMERICAN   AMBULANCES   IN   A   RUINED   VILLAGE   NEAR 
VERDUN  (SECTION  FOUR  AT   IPPECOURT^ 


SECTION  FOUR 


in  broad  day;  at  night  it  was  infinitely  worse,  and  we 
suffered,  I  believe,  almost  as  much  as  the  wounded  men 
themselves.  A  long,  hard  ride  for  a  badly  hurt  man,  a 
bitterly  cold  ride,  for  all  the  blankets  rolled  around  him, 
for  a  man  suffering  from  the  dead  chill  that  follows  much 
loss  of  blood  —  some  thirty  kilometres  to  the  big  hospital 
—  an  hour's  to  three  hours'  running  depending  on  the 
gravity  of  the  case  and  the  amount  of  light  available. 
But  it  was  always  a  comfort  to  reflect  that  the  evils  were 
at  any  rate  much  less  than  earlier  in  the  war,  and  that 
the  tortures  and  delays  of  the  old-style  horse-drawn 
ambulances  were,  for  such  service,  things  of  the 
past. 

Compared  to  the  awful  run  in  from  the  Carrlere,  all 
our  other  service  at  Toul  was  sheer  delight  * —  the  roads 
good,  for  war-time  roads,  and  the  percentage  of  graves 
blesses  low;  but  no  chronicle  of  our  sojourn  during  this 
time  would  be  complete  without  mention  of  the  weather 
and  mud  of  France  at  war.  Out  of  our  entire  four  months' 
stay  in  the  Toul  sector,  I  doubt  if  there  were  ten  pleasant 
days.  Mostly  it  blew  —  violently ;  almost  always  it  rained. 
The  yard  was  a  great  bowl  of  mud,  with  one  or  two  great 
water-filled  depressions  in  which  the  camion  drivers 
washed  their  cars;  the  streets  were  seas  of  grayish,  gritty 
liquid  that  covered  car  and  driver  from  top  to  bottom, 
and,  lashing  out  in  horizontal  sheets,  drenched  the  un- 
happy poilii  who  did  not  make  for  the  open  field  when  he 
saw  a  fast  staff  car  coming.  As  for  the  ploughed  fields, 
they  were  well-nigh  impassable;  the  whole  of  France 
showed  a  marked  inclination  to  rise  with  each  uplifted 
foot,  and  Mother  Earth  firmly  and  instantly  resented  — 
in  great  slabs  —  any  attempt  to  stroll  across  lots. 

Verdun  at  Last 

Ippecourt  lies  some  twenty  miles  back  of  the  front-line 
trenches  of  Verdun,  but  ever  and  anon,  in  the  lulls  of  the 
storm,  came  to  our  ears  the  interminable  rumbling  and 
grumbling,  the  steady,  pattering  roar  as  of  a  distant  cas- 

409 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


cade  of  great  boulders  —  but  sinister  and  horrible  in  its 
relentless  busy-ness. 

Late  on  the  night  of  the  15th,  came  a  call  for  the  en- 
tire Section;  there  had  been  an  attack  by  the  French 
—  a  successful  attack  —  on  the  Mort  Homme,  and  we 
were  to  evacuate  the  blesses  as  fast  as  they  could  be 
rushed  through  the  receiving  hospitals. 

This  marked  our  entrance  into  the  Battle  of  Verdun,  for 
the  work  was  now  too  heavy  for  the  French  Sections  in 
the  sector  to  handle  alone,  and  the  next  night,  that  of  the 
1 6th,  we  were  called  on  for  front-line  work  once  more. 
Hansen,  McCall,  Allen,  and  I  took  the  first  run,  and  fol- 
lowing Lieutenant  de  Turckheim,  reached  Fromereville 
at  dusk,  and  looked  over  our  new  advanced  base.  The 
cars  stood  in  the  main  street  until  sent  for,  and  before 
starting,  and  on  arriving  once  more,  we  were  to  report 
at  the  telephone  station  of  the  G.B.D.  {Groupe  Brartcar- 
dier  Divisionnaire)  in  the  ahri  that  had  been  made  in  the 
back  of  a  little  dehitant  store.  " Bourgeois"  was  the  name 
over  the  door,  and  ''Bourgeois"  grew  to  look  almost  like 
home  and  mother  after  many  a  trying  trip. 

Our  road,  shimmering  in  the  moonlight,  ran  up  through 
the  French  gun  positions  —  hundreds  of  them ;  every- 
where, the  fields  were  dotted  with  the  little  aiming-point 
lights  —  and  through  the  German  artillery  fire,  some  six 
miles  in  all.  The  first  three,  to  Bethelainville  were  easy 
going,  the  road  good,  and  little  traffic.  At  Bethelainville 
the  fun  began  —  bad  shell-holes,  water-filled,  made  the 
going  difficult,  and  there  was  a  sharp  turn  through  a 
black,  narrow  alley,  down  which,  without  warning,  the 
ravitaillenient  trains  charged  at  a  swinging  clip.  It  was  a 
bad  corner,  on  which  the  Boches  had  ''ranged"  very 
successfully,  and  one  could  never  tell  when  a  shell  would 
snarl  in;  so  that  the  drivers  were  not  to  be  blamed  for 
"hitting  it  up"  a  bit. 

And  now  began  the  worst  of  the  going.  The  farther  we 
came,  the  thicker  were  the  guns  around  us,  bellowing, 
booming,  barking,  and  cracking  on  all  sides  — in  the  val- 

410 


SECTION  FOUR 


leys  below,  in  the  fields  alongside,  from  the  hillsides  above 
us;  and  the  thicker  became  the  arrosage  of  German  shells. 
Where  not  torn  by  shell-fire,  the  road  was  simply  worn 
to  unbelievable  roughness;  often  hub-deep  in  mud,  the 
bottom  was  pitted  and  rutted  as  if  by  a  violent  earth- 
quake, and,  try  as  we  would,  the  cars  would  pitch  and 
toss,  rolling  drunkenly  like  a  dory  in  a  tide-rip.  .  .  . 

On,  up  the  winding  road,  narrower  now  than  ever,  and 
crammed  with  supply  trains  —  a  chance  shell  here  would 
make  rare  havoc;  but  it's  all  in  the  game,  and  the  sup- 
plies must  be  got  up,  regardless  of  the  cost.  Now  the 
going  is  better  for  a  space,  as  we  run  around  the  crest  of 
a  long  hill;  and  here  the  guns  are  below  us,  indicated  only 
by  the  keen  stabs  of  flame  from  the  ''  75's"  or  the  dazzling 
bursts  from  the  big  fellows.  Again  the  road  swings,  pitch- 
ing down,  this  time,  and  the  scarred  surface  and  torn 
banks  show  that  the  stretch,  clearly  visible  from  the 
enemy's  drachens,  is  thoroughly  ''registered,"  and  fre- 
quently swept  by  their  fire. 

Down  we  swing  toward  a  ruined  town,  gleaming  wanly 
in  the  moonlight,  from  which  comes  ever  and  anon  the 
snarl  and  flat,  dull  crash  of  an  arriving  big  shell  —  Mont- 
zeville;  but  halfway  down  the  slope,  we  swing  sharply 
to  the  right,  and  strike  over  a  little  rise  and  down  into  a 
very  wilderness  of  great  holes;  for  here,  almost  against 
the  roads,  is  a  battery  of  great  French  guns,  and  on  these 
and  the  road  is  rained  an  intermittent  shower  of  big 
German  shells. 

Up  goes  the  road  again,  and  down  through  another 
labyrinth  of  holes,  here  again  the  Boches  had  accurate 
registration;  and  up  again,  gradually,  till  we  came  out  on 
the  top  of  the  world,  with  the  torn  battle-field  of  Hill  304 
and  the  Mort  Homme  glimmering  ghostlike  to  the  north 
of  us. 

Hill  272 

In  the  bank  beside  us  a  boyau  leads  to  the  entrance  to 
the  poste  de  secours  of  Hill  2'j2  —  down  several  steps  cut 

411 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


in  the  clay,  through  a  couple  of  blanket  curtains,  into  an 
ahri  whose  arched  roof  of  corrugated  steel  supports  many- 
feet  of  dirt  and  stone.  Here  are  rude  bunks,  straw-filled, 
on  the  floor  on  either  side  of  a  narrow  passageway;  the 
white  glare  of  the  single  acetylene  flame  throws  into  high 
relief  and  black  shadow  the  drawn,  resigned  faces  of  the 
blesses,  who,  mud-covered,  bandaged  and  blood-stained, 
fill  the  all-too-small  shelter  to  overflowing.  At  the  far  end 
a  curtain  shuts  off  a  portion  reserved  for  the  medecin 
auxiliaire  in  charge  of  the  poste,  his  records  and  supplies. 

Outside  once  more,  we  find  the  road  on  either  side  lined 
with  blesses,  sitting,  standing,  or  helpless  on  stretchers, 
fully  and  unavoidably  exposed  to  chance  shell-fire ;  there 
is  no  room  below,  and  expeditious  transport  is  the  only 
answer.  As  quickly  as  may  be  we  load  up  —  three  couches 
inside,  two  assis  in  front  with  me  —  and  begin  the  long, 
hard  run  back.  Easing  into  shell-holes,  crawling  out  care- 
fully, the  going  is  not  so  bad  for  a  while ;  but  gradually 
the  light  becomes  deceptive,  the  holes  are  no  longer 
evident,  and  racking  and  rolling  through  the  worst  places, 
we  finally  reach  and  pass  the  torn  streets  of  Bethelainville 
and  roll  smoothly  on  to  Fromereville. 

Such  was  the  Hill  2^2  run  —  simple  enough  in  the  tell- 
ing, but  infinitely  nerve-racking  in  actuality,  especially 
on  a  pitch-dark,  rainy  night;  for  every  jolt  and  jar  meant 
to  the  driver,  mindful  of  his  charge,  only  less  torture  than 
to  the  blesse  himself,  and  the  moans  and  agonized  '7d- 
las''  of  the  poor  fellows  behind  went  through  one  like  a 
knife. 

To  this  night  duty  was  added  that  of  a  twenty-four 
hour  picket  —  one  car  always  on  call  at  Fromereville  for 
special  work  —  emergency  day  calls,  etc.  We  were  not 
supposed  to  visit  Hill  272  by  day,  but  I  can  clearly  recall 
my  first  tour  as  picket  and  the  message  received  about 
7  A.M.:  ''Grave  blesse  a  la  Cote  Deux-cent-soixante' 
douze^  A  lift  on  the  crank  and  we  were  off,  skimming 
smoothly  through  a  fresh,  clear  morning,  the  sunshine 
gleaming  from  daisy-starred,  poppy- jewelled  fields,  flam- 

412 


SECTION  FOUR 


Ing  on  the  red,  scarred  tracks  leading  in  a  vast  network 
to  the  countless  guns,  and  losing  itself  in  the  cool  shade 
of  the  little  grove  beyond  Bethelainville.  On  past  Vigne- 
ville ;  and  now,  well  up  in  the  crystal-clear  air,  across  the 
lines,  shone  the  opalescent  drachens  of  the  German  artil- 
lery —  were  the  observation  officers  Prussians,  or  more 
kindly  disposed  beings?  The  little  ambulance,  crawling 
now  among  the  shell-holes,  would  make  a  splendid  target, 
and  in  modern  warfare  as  practised  by  the  Boche,  the 
Red  Cross  was  no  guarantee  of  security.  On  around  Cal- 
vary corner,  and  up  across  the  roof  of  all  the  world,  a 
wonderful  "sporting  chance"  for  their  guns  —  but  not 
taken.  Stopping  at  the  poste,  the  hrancardiers  brought  out 
an  officer,  blackened  of  face,  unconscious,  breath  com- 
ing in  heaves  through  froth-rimmed  mouth;  he  could 
not  breathe,  flat  on  the  stretcher,  and  we  packed  blank- 
ets gently  under  head  and  shoulders;  several  assis  were 
brought  out,  and  the  hrancardiers  hastened  back  to  shel- 
ter—  in  ten  days  they  had  lost  thirteen  out  of  thirty, 
and  they  were  properly  cautious. 

Section  Four  at  Verdun 

July  21,  1916 
Some  four  or  five  miles  back  of  the  lines,  we  stop  for 
orders  —  several  cars  lined  up  along  the  street.  Fromere- 
ville  is  bombarded  rather  frequently  by  a  long-range,  flat- 
trajectory,  five-inch  gun,  and  the  Germans  occasionally 
do  pretty  good  shooting.  It  was  taken  rather  as  a  matter 
of  course,  at  first  —  not  too  much  attention  to  be  paid 
to  it;  but  one  night  about  two  o'clock  —  I  was  there 
on  twenty-four-hour  duty  —  there  came  the  familiar 
"boom"  followed  by  the  rather  regretful  snarl  of  this 
particular  gun's  missives,  and  the  usual  dull,  flat  explo- 
sion down  the  street,  with  the  accompanying  rattle  and 
clash  and  clatter  of  broken  tiles,  like  the  proverbial  bull 
in  the  china  shop,  showing  that  they  had  struck  a  house. 
Men  began  to  drift  into  the  ahri  pretty  quickly,  dressing 
as  they  came,  and  at  casual  and  leisurely  intervals  the 

413 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


big  gun  boomed  again,  and  the  shots  whirled  in,  marching 
steadily  down  the  street  toward  and  past  us;  sometimes 
a  man  entering  rather  shamefacedly  —  as  if  he  only  came 
because  it  was  the  proper  thing  to  do,  and  not  because  he 
wanted  to  —  would  hear  the  bang  outside  and  be  alrnost 
lifted  by  his  own  reflex  action  into  the  room,  galvanized 
into  life,  and  changing  expression  rather  ludicrously.^  It 
was  all  rather  gay,  and  there  was  a  good  deal  of  jollying 
and  laughing,  and  a  little  buzz  of  good-natured  comment 
at  each  fresh  bang  from  outside,  till  after  twelve  or  fifteen 
shots  —  some  ten  minutes,  perhaps,  in  all  —  there  came 
no  more,  and  we  streamed  out  into  the  street  for  a  breath 
of  fresh  air,  and  then,  for  the  soldiers,  bed  again. 

But  at  the  door  we  met  a  group  of  men,  rather  hushed 
in  their  talk,  carrying  in  two  or  three  wounded  men. 
''La  mmson  au  coin,  la-has!''  I  heard.  '7/  est  mort?'* 
'Vh,  oui  —  "So  I  went  down  to  the  corner.  Except  for  a 
few  broken  panes  it  did  n't  look  very  different,  this  house, 
so  I  went  in  and  peered  over  the  shoulders  of  the  quiet 
little  group  that  had  preceded  me.  There  was  nothing  to 
be  done  —  it  was  quite  complete.  The  shell  had  entered 
the  back  of  the  house,  passed  through  the  room  without 
exploding,  entered  the  big  chimney  in  the  middle  of  the 
house,  passed  through  it,  and  exploded  in  the  great  stone 
mantel.  The  front  room  looked  singularly  flat,  no  colors 
and  peculiarly  little  light  and  shade  effect  in  the  feeble 
glimmer  of  the  one  candle  —  all  was  one  dull,  mat  gray, 
walls,  ceiling,  furniture,  hangings,  thickly  covered  with  a 
coating  of  fine  plaster  and  stone  dust.  Down  from  the 
great  gaping  hole  in  the  chimney  breast  streamed  a  long 
pile  of  debris,  gleaming  pale  in  the  flickering  light,  and  at 
the  end  of  the  pile  on  the  floor  at  our  feet,  gray  and  al- 
most indistinguishable,  huddled  on  his  breast,  one  hand, 
palm  upturned,  flung  across  his  back,  lay  what  was  left 
of  one  who  had  started  too  late.  Head  completely  gone 
—  I  don't  think  they  ever  found  any  of  it  —  a  little  dark 
stain  on  the  floor ;  and  across  the  room  a  big  grandfather's 
clock  —  I  looked  at  it  to  see  at  what  time  the  explosion 

414 


SECTION  FOUR 


had  stopped  it  —  was  still  ticking  away  unconcernedly. 
It  was  one  of  the  last  shells  that  did  it,  and  had  he  moved 
sooner  —  but  none  ever  had  struck  there  and  it  probably 
seemed  foolish  to  bother.  .  .  . 

A  PosTE  —  Shells  —  and  Repos  ! 

July,  19 1 6 
The  road  here  is  sunk  perhaps  three  or  four  feet,  and 
on  one  side  is  a  wide  ditch  bridged  at  intervals,  with 
little  caves  dug  into  the  bank  back  of  the  covered  places 

—  a  ditch  which,  in  time  of  heavy  rains,  beds  a  rushing 
torrent  which  fills  the  little  burrows  three  or  four  feet 
deep;  and  these  are  "homes"  of  aumoniers,  brancardiers, 
etc.  On  the  other  side  of  the  road  a  boyau,  or  trench,  leads 
into  the  bank,  and  off  it,  on  one  branch  is  the  cook's 
abri;  and  on  the  other,  down  a  flight  of  steps  dug  in  the 
hard  clay,  through  two  blanket  curtains  —  light  must 
not  be  allowed  to  filter  out  —  we  find  the  main  abri  of 
the  paste  de  secours.  Some  thirty  feet  by  ten  wide,  a  great 
shell  of  corrugated  iron,  covered  several  feet  deep  with 
earth;  one  third  partitioned  off  for  the  officers  and  the 
bureau,  the  rest  simply  a  long  narrow  passage  down  the 
middle,  separated  by  board  strips  from  the  four-foot- 
wide  piles  of  straw  on  either  side  which  serve  as  beds  for 
waiting  brancardiers,  malades,  or  blesses.  A  single  acety- 
lene lamp  usually  lights  both  sides  of  the  partition ;  smoke 

—  there  is  n't  much  else  to  do  —  a  little  chat,  sometimes 
an  argument,  and  always  the  little  flurry  of  interest  and 
excitement  when  we  bring  the  contribution  of  papers 
f.^om  Bartlett  and  Crane — "Le5  Russes  marchejtt  tou- 
jcurs  bien  ?  "  —  ''Et  les  Anglais  ?  ce  n'est  pas  vite,  en  effet, 
mais  c'est  bien  sur,^^  ''A  la  Somme  nos  prisonniers  sont 
maintenant  8000 .' "  —  ''Oh!  nous  les  aurons  !  "  And  they 
are  much  interested  in  our  politics  —  Germany  at  the 
bottom  of  the  Mexican  trouble  —  was  Roosevelt  going 
to  run  —  would  Wilson  be  reelected  —  and  what  sort  of 
a  man  was  "Monsieur  Ooges?  "  The  French  are  marvel- 
lously patient  with  our  wandering  diplomacy,  unexpect- 

415 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


edly  cognizant  of  our  difficulties;  and  their  journals 
are,  if  anything,  over-fair.  But  they  all  seem  to  ask, 
''When  will  the  true  United  States  speak?"  It  isn't 
action  that  they  want  (though  there  are  many  who  feel 
that  we  should  be  supplying  free  ammunition  and  things 
as  a  government  taking  part  in  a  job  of  world-policing, 
rather  than  selling  as  individuals).  But  they  still  hope  to 
see  our  country  live  up  to  its  ideals  and  leave  its  impos- 
sible policy  of  aloofness  —  the  ''none-of-my-business-so- 
long-as-it-does  n't-touch-my-pocket "  attitude. 

Away  there  to  the  north,  just  not  visible  over  the 
crest,  three  kilometres  away,  are  the  trenches.  They 
were  pushed  over  the  first  week  we  were  here,  leaving 
behind  —  we  can  see  it  all  clearly  when  we  have  to  make 
a  daylight  trip  —  a  great  slope  of  raw,  scarred,  and  fur- 
rowed clay,  pitted  with  great  craters,  with  zigzag  boyaux 
running  up,  and  long,  wavy  lines  of  trenches  length- 
wise —  no  sign  of  life  —  apparently  an  absolutely  bar- 
ren w^aste  —  till  something  starts. 

But  at  night  here  is  none  of  this  visible  —  sheer  black- 
ness on  dark  nights,  or,  when  it  is  clear,  the  long,  dim 
outline  of  the  hills,  dark  against  the  dull  sky  above,  with 
ever  a  light  cloud  of  mist  or  smoke  hanging  low  over  the 
trenches.  Up  from  the  lines,  now  here,  now  there,  rise 
the  quick,  soaring  arrow-sprays  of  the  rocket-lights  — 
the  fusees  eclairantes  —  a  golden  pencil-stroke  of  star- 
dust,  breaking,  high  over  the  trenches,  into  a  single, 
great,  dazzling  ball  of  white  fire ;  the  rocket  head  shoots 
on  up  with  its  train  of  fire  and,  still  mounting,  disappears 
in  the  darkness.  The  flare,  flickering  slightly,  more  power- 
ful and  more  brilliant  than  any  arc  light,  sinks,  now 
drifting  or  falling  rapidly,  now  almost  stationary,  the 
vast  shadow  of  its  supporting  parachute  wheeling  above 
it  on  the  low-hung  clouds;  beneath,  for  miles  around,  the 
light  of  a  decent-sized  moonlit  night.  When  going  away 
from  the  lines  this  light  is  really  of  great  assistance  to  us. 
These  are  the  French  lights,  lasting  for  ten  or  twelve 
minutes.  The  German  flares  ignite  at  once,  as  they  ascend, 

416 


fl  ''Sl^^^^^^^^ll 

fc.  ■'"'- 

Bt' 

w 

Bl  ■<■ 

BBK  :i. 

-m:. 

f^^ 

F 

■ 

'mfJk.. 

-<:-j^m 

SECTION    FOUR   ON    SERVK  K    IN    VEKDL  N 


EVACl  ATION   HOSriTAL  AT  GLORIEUX  AT   THE    MOMENT   OF   AN    ATTACK 
ON   THE  VERDUN   FRONT,    1917 


SECTION  FOUR 


descend  quickly,  and  do  not  last  long.  Green-starred 
rockets,  red-starred  rockets,  rockets  that  release  long 
strings  of  white  stars,  or  red  or  green  stars,  falling  in  long 
serpentine  trains,  or  great  showers  of  stars,  veritable 
constellations,  each  presumably  giving  its  message  as  to 
range,  attacks,  etc.,  to  the  distant  artillery,  in  a  code 
presumably  changed  constantly  —  the  whole  front  from 
Switzerland  to  the  sea  is  one  long  feu  d' artifice,  nightly 
repeated. 

September,  19 16 
Around  us  the  guns  are  constantly  at  it  —  sometimes 
all  at  once  in  an  attack,  more  often  turn  and  turn 
about  —  now  here,  now  there,  the  short,  sharp  bark 
of  the  "75,"  with  the  wicked,  tearing  swish  and  snarl  of 
the  shell  hurtling  off  overhead,  soon  lost  to  hearing;  the 
lively  boom  and  deeper  note  of  the  medium-sized  weap- 
ons; the  deep  crash  of  the  big  chaps  followed  by  the  roar 
as  of  a  heavy  express  train  entering  a  railway  cut  as  the 
shell  tears  off  into  the  far,  high  places  above ;  every  now 
and  then  some  big  gun,  more  distant,  emits  a  sort  of 
mellow,  musical  note,  and  the  projectile  eases  off  on  its 
errand,  calmly  and  quietly,  with  an  accent  of  confidence. 
This  is  singularly  emphasized  in  the  case  of  the  big  shells 
passing  overhead  from  so  far  behind  that  the  boom  of  the 
gun  is  lost  —  we  merely  hear  an  unhurried,  dispassionate 
whisper  overhead,  "  I  'm  not  saying  much,  I  'm  not  worry- 
ing, I  'm  not  hurrying,  but  I  'm  on  my  way  —  just  wait 
and  — "  He  passes  on  with  all  the  airs  of  manifest  destiny, 
and  all  is  quiet  till  away  in  front  rises  a  great  ragged 
sheet  of  sm.oke  and  flame,  and  a  few  seconds  later  the 
heavy,  sullen  ''G-r-r-r-ooMvV  that  shows  that  part  of 
its  self-confidence,  at  any  rate,  was  well-founded.  More 
often,  though,  the  shelling  does  not  appear  to  be  on  the 
lines,  but  on  the  roads  and  villages  behind,  through  which 
the  supply  trains  and  troop  reliefs  must  pass. 


417 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


October,  igi6 
And  so  our  life  is  very  pleasant,  when  the  weather  per- 
mits —  which  it  mostly  does  n't;  we  run  at  night,  but  not 
every  night,  sleep  until  lunch-time,  and  then  work  on  the 
cars  or  sit  out  on  our  pleasant  little  slope  lazily  watching 
the  clouds  drifting  across,  the  aeroplanes  and  birds 
wheeling  overhead,  listening  to  the  wind  constantly 
whispering  and  rustling  in  the  poplars  along  the  busy 
little  brook,  the  bright  little  chirrups  and  trills  and  liquid 
notes  of  the  birds,  the  gay  and  voluble  chat  of  the  little 
groups  of  soldiers.  .  .  . 

Richard  C.  Ware^ 


*  Of  Milton,  Mass.;  Harvard, '04  ;  served  ten  months  in  Section  Four  in 
1916,  and  as  Sous-CheJ  of  the  Section;  subsequently  a  Captain  in  the 
U.  S,  Field  Artillery. 


Ill 

Near  Mort  Homme  and  Hill  304 

The  Section  was  cantoned,  in  July,  1916,  under  canvas 
among  the  ruins  of  Ipp6court,  destroyed  in  the  Battle  of 
the  Marne,  and  about  twenty-five  kilometres  from  Ver- 
dun. The  unit  was  commanded  by  the  French  Sous- 
Lieutenant,  Frederic  de  Turckheim,  with  Oliver  H.  Perry 
as  Chef,  and  Paul  Delanoy  as  Marechal  des  Logis.  We  did 
front  poste  work  only,  for  the  64th  and  65th  Divisions 
which  were  resisting  the  Boche  counter-attacks  after  the 
big  Verdun  battle  of  a  few  months  before.  The  runs  were 
almost  entirely  at  night  from  Ippecourt  to  the  main 
poste  at  Fromereville,  a  town  badly  damaged  by  shell-fire 
and  situated  between  Verdun  and  the  lines  of  the  famous 
Mort  Homme  and  Hill  304.  Several  roads  lead  to  Fromere- 
ville from  Ippecourt,  Osches,  Lemmes,  Souilly,  Jubecourt, 
Rampont,  Souhesme,  and  Dombasle.  The  last-named 
route  was  badly  shelled  and  frequently  dangerous.  Fro- 
mereville was  often  under  fire. 

The  runs  to  front  postes  were  from  Fromereville  to 
Hill  272  just  back  of  the  Mort  Homme,  passing  through 
what  was  left  of  Bethelainville  and  Vigneville.  There  was 
another  run  from  Fromereville  to  Marre,  a  poste  four 
hundred  metres  from  the  Boche  lines  and  fourteen  kilo- 
metres from  Fromereville.  This  route  skirted  Verdun  and 
ran  along  the  left  bank  of  the  Meuse  past  Charny.  Marre, 
completely  in  ruins,  is  close  to  Chattancourt,  from  which 
the  Messes  were  brought  in. 

A  third  run  was  a  short  one  to  the  ruins  of  Germon- 
ville,  a  town  on  the  edge  of  the  Bois  Bourrus,  where  were 
a  lot  of  French  batteries.  Hill  272  was  quite  spectacular, 
as  it  looked  over  the  trenches  on  the  Mort  Homme,  and 
to  go  thither  you  passed  a  corner  we  called  Calvary,  on 
account  of  a  grave  there  with  a  huge  cross. 

419 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 

All  these  roads  were  badly  rutted  with  shell-holes  which 
made  the  driving  difficult.  At  one  time  the  holes  were  so 
numerous  and  deep  that,  for  thirty  hours,  four  men  who 
had  gone  to  one  of  the  pastes  could  not  get  back  with  their 
ambulances,  but  were  forced  to  bring  the  wounded  back 
as  far  as  they  could,  unload  them  and  carry  them,  by 
hand,  through  the  bad  place  on  the  road,  and  then  put 
them  into  other  ambulances  which  had  been  sent  for  the 
purpose.  The  French  batteries,  lined  along  the  road,  added 
to  our  troubles  by  their  noise,  while  star-shells,  bursting 
eclats,  and  shrapnel  in  the  sky  were  like  fireworks.  These 
helped  a  little,  as  they  lighted  us  on  our  way. 

The  Death  of  Kelley 
At  ten  o^clock  in  the  evening  of  September  23,  Roswell 
Sanders,  in  company  with  Edward  Kelley,  was  driving 
his  ambulance  through  Marre  on  his  way  to  the  poste. 
When  about  two  hundred  yards  from  the  posts,  a  shell 
exploded  in  front  of  the  car,  killing  Kelley  instantly  and 
badly  wounding  Sanders  in  the  head.  The  driver  of  an- 
other ambulance,  Robert  Gooch,  who  was  in  a  neighbor- 
ing ahri,  came  out,  went  down  the  road  alone  under 
machine-gun-fire,  and  brought  in  Kelley's  body.  Kelley 
was  buried  two  days  later  at  a  near-by  town,  Blercourt, 
while  Sanders,  after  hovering  between  life  and  death  for 
two  weeks  at  the  nearest  field  hospital,  finally  recovered. 
Kelley  received  the  Croix  de  Guerre  and  Sanders  the 
Medaille  Militaire  and  the  Croix  de  Guerre. 

In  the  little  stone  chapel  of  the  village  a  funeral  service 
was  held,  brief,  simple,  and  sincere,  yet  amazingly  im- 
pressive because  of  that  simplicity.  The  small  procession, 
sturdy  of  faith  and  loyalty,  wound  slowly  up  onto  the 
hillside  at  the  town's  edge,  where  crouched  brown  earth 
heaps  beside  new  graves.  There  was  a  choir  of  grizzled 
brancardiers,  in  their  stained,  faded  tenue  once  horizon- 
blue,  whose  hearts  were  in  their  voices.  The  aumonier, 
clad  in  uniform  of  war,  read  the  service  for  the  dead, 
fondly  and  movingly.  Then  Lieutenant  de  Turckheim 

420 


SECTION  FOUR 


put  into  words  the  adieu  and  feelings  of  the  Section. 
Those  deeper  feelings  which  are  well-nigh  impossible  for 
an  American  to  voice.  The  Medecin  Inspecteur,  M.  Gou- 
zin,  spoke  in  appreciation  at  the  new-turned  grave: 

C'est  dans  une  douloureuse  etreinte  que  nous  sommes  reunis 
autour  de  ce  cercueil,  pour  rendre  les  derniers  devoirs  au  con- 
ducteur  volontaire  americain  Kelley,  Edward,  mort  pour  la 
France. 

Voulant  apporter  a  la  cause  sacree  Tardeur  de  sa  jeunesse, 
il  vient,  d'un  geste  genereux,  de  cueilllr  dans  la  mort  son  pre- 
mier laurier. 

C'etait,  en  effet,  son  voyage  de  debut  dans  le  secteur,  et  le 
conducteur  Sanders,  Roswell  —  un  veteran  de  ces  missions 
perilleuses  —  qui  lui  servalt  de  guide,  s'est  lui-meme,  sans 
partager  le  sort  fatal  de  son  camarade,  inscrit  a  ses  cotes  au 
livre  d'or  des  braves  de  la  Grande  Guerre. 

Nous  les  voyons  chaque  jour  a  Toeuvre  ces  vaillantes  sec- 
tions sanitaires,  et,  dans  des  circonstances  toutes  recentes,  nous 
avons  pu  admirer  avec  quel  sang-froid,  quelle  intrepidite, 
quelle  habilete,  quelle  solllcitude  touchante  pour  nos  chers 
blesses,  elles  s'acquittaient  de  leur  rude  et  noble  tache,  en  depit 
des  difficultes  sans  nombre. 

Ah!  que  ces  jeunes  gens  au  coeur  franc,  au  visage  ouvert,  ex- 
priment  bien  le  caractere  loyal  et  chevaleresque  de  leur  race,  ce 
temperament  qui,  sous  des  dehors  froids  et  reserves,  abrite  les 
aspirations  et  les  ardeurs  les  plus  genereuses!  Leurs  chefs  qui, 
avec  la  meme  simplicite,  la  meme  modestie,  apportent  a  leur 
mission  tant  de  competence  et  tant  de  courage,  sont  justement 
fiers  de  commander  a  de  tels  hommes,  dont  ils  partagent  les 
fatigues  et  les  dangers. 

Et  quelle  discipline  ideale  que  celle  qui,  sans  autre  rein,  unit 
si  familialement  toute  cette  jeunesse  d'elite  dans  un  meme 
sentiment  de  haute  pitie,  d'abnegation,  de  sacrifice  llbrement, 
volontairement  consent!!  Car  vous  souffriez  de  rester  inactlfs, 
temoins  impassibles  du  grand  conflit  mondial,  et  vous  n'avez 
pas  hesite  a  franchir  les  mers  pour  venir  spontanement  offrir  a 
vos  freres  d'Europe,  meurtris  dans  la  lutte  et  pantelants,  votre 
aide  secourable  et  desinteressee,  aux  cdtes  de  vos  braves  cama* 
rades  des  sections  sanitaires  frangaises. 

Dignes  fils  de  la  grande  Republique  soeur,  dignes  emules  de 
vos  compatriotes,  les  Chapman,  les  Rockwell,  qui,  eux  aussi, 
en  d'autres  lieux,  sont  tombes  glorieusement  au  service  de 
notre  chere  Patrie,  vou's  avez  droit  k  notre  reconnaissance  in- 
finie,  imp^rissable :  nul  ici  ne  vous  la  menage,  vous  etes  nos 

421 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


amis  et  cette  affection  profonde  que  tous  nous  vous  portons 
survivra  a  I'heure  presente. 

Devant  cette  tombe  qui  va  se  refermer  sur  les  restes  mortels 
d'un  jeune  heros,  nous  nous  inclinons  avec  respect.  Votre  fa- 
mille,  Edward  Kelley,  en  apprenant  la  fatale  nouvelle,  saura  du 
moins  que,  mort  en  soldat,  decore  de  la  Croix  de  Guerre  par  le 
General  commandant  le  Corps  d'Armee,  vous  avez  regu  sur  le 
sol  de  France,  les  supremes  honneurs  qui  vous  etaient  dus, 
parmi  la  foule  emue  et  recueillie  de  vos  compagnons  de  mission, 
de  vos  camarades  frangais.  Puisse  ce  pieux  temoignage  de  notre 
douloureuse  sympathie  adoucir  I'inconsolable  chagrin  de  ces 
etres  aimes! 

Adieu,  Kelley,  reposez  en  paix  dans  cette  terre  sanctifiee  par 
votre  sang:  votre  mort  est  un  symbole  et  un  exemple,  votre 
souvenir  ne  perira  pas ! 

Then  each  of  us  tossed  some  earth  onto  the  coffin  in  its 
resting-place  and  turned  away,  eyes  dry,  throats  queerly 
tight  —  turned  away,  back  to  the  scurrying  tasks  of  the 
day's  service. 

The  Fall  of  191 6 

During  the  latter  part  of  September,  Section  Two  vras 
attached  to  the  65th  Division,  leaving  us  the  work  of  the 
64th  only.  We  gave  up  the  "Hill"  run,  which  was  a  poste 
for  the  65th,  kept  Marre  and  took  on  the  evacuation  back 
from  Fromereville  to  the  hospitals  at  Blercourt  and  Vade- 
laincourt.  We  also  maintained  a  twenty-four  hour  piquet 
at  Glorieux  on  the  outskirts  of  Verdun,  whence  we  ran  on 
call  to  various  forts  or  pastes,  the  former  being  Forts  de 
Charny,  Vacherauville,  and  Sartelles.  From  the  top  of 
the  hill  back  of  the  large  hospital  at  Glorieux,  where  we 
were  en  piquet,  one  had  a  splendid  view  of  Verdun,  Bras, 
Vaux,  Douaumont,  and  the  whole  valley  of  the  Meuse. 

During  the  time  we  ser\^ed  on  these  runs  we  saw  the 
French  troops  take  Fleury,  Douaumont,  Vaux,  and  the 
Fort  de  Vaux,  and  later  the  famous  Cote  du  Poivre.  The 
weather  was  almost  alwa>-s  bad  —  rainy  and  foggy  — 
while  deep  mud  was  ever>^vhere;  from  about  September 
20  on,  we  began  to  carry  many  cases  of  trench  feet  and 
marvelled  how  the  men  could  live,  to  say  nothing  of  fight, 

422 


SECTION  FOUR 


under  such  conditions;  while  in  addition  countless  rats 
were  most  annoying  both  to  them  and  us,  these  pests 
often  running  over  our  bodies  and  faces  when  we  slept 
in  the  ahris. 

About  November,  we  were  given  a  fortnight's  repos, 
during  which  time  the  only  work  we  did  was  to  keep  three 
cars  stationed  with  the  Division  at  its  headquarters  back 
of  Vaubecourt,  whence  we  carried  the  malades  of  the  Divi- 
sion to  various  hospitals  at  Triaucourt,  Conde,  Rember- 
court,  Erize-la-Grande,  Erize-la- Petite,  and  Bar-le-Duc. 
The  rest  of  the  Section  remained  at  Ippecourt,  painting 
and  working  over  ambulances,  and  then  moved  just  out- 
side Ippecourt  to  a  new  cantonment,  a  long  line  of  small 
cabins,  three  of  us  lodging  in  each  cabin,  the  park  for  our 
cars  being  the  paved  space  in  front.  This  ''home"  had 
been  made  by  Boche  prisoners  about  a  year  before. 

DOMBASLE  —  ESNES  —  ViLLE-SUR-CoUSANCES 
After  repos  our  Division  moved  up  into  the  trenches  of 
Hill  304  and  into  the  Foret  d'Esnes,  which  meant  new 
posies  for  us.  The  new  Ambulance  Headquarters  were  at 
Jubecourt  with  the  triage  at  Ville-sur-Cousances.  We  had 
one  poste  at  Dombasle,  another  nearer  the  lines  in  the 
Bois  de  Bethelainville,  another  at  Montzeville  and  the 
nearest  at  Esnes.  From  Ville-sur-Cousances  we  evacuated 
back  to  Froidos  and  to  the  hospital  at  Fleury-sur-Aire. 

In  this  sector  two  ambulances  were  sent  every  other 
night  for  evacuation  work  at  Ville-sur-Cousances,  alter- 
nating with  a  French  section,  while  one  car  was  kept  at 
twenty-four  hour  piquet  work  at  Jouy  at  the  bureau  of 
the  Medecin  Divisionnaire  and  two  other  cars  at  Jubecourt 
for  the  runs  to  Montzeville  and  Esnes.  The  Jouy  ambu- 
lance also  ran  to  Montzeville  and  Esnes  on  call,  with 
extra  ambulances  always  posted  at  the  cantonment  at 
Ippecourt  in  case  of  an  emergency.  The  run  from  Jube- 
court to  Esnes  was  twenty  kilometres,  passing  through 
Brocourt,  Dombasle,  and  then  up  over  a  long  hill  through 
the  Bois  de  Bethelainville  and  down  to  Montzeville  on 

423 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


the  other  side.  From  the  top  of  this  hill  one  had  a  remark- 
able view  of  the  j\Iort  Homme  and  Hill  304,  with  shells 
bursting  on  the  slopes.  Montzeville  by  the  way,  was  a 
complete  wreck  of  what  had  once  been  a  smiling  village, 
most  of  the  streets  being  so  littered  with  debris  as  to  be 
impassable.  We  managed,  however,  to  keep  one  street 
clear,  although,  in  spite  of  our  efforts,  it  was  usually  full 
of  shell-holes.  Our  poste  de  secours  here  was  in  an  abri  in 
the  cellar  of  a  wrecked  house  with  ruins  everywhere.  On 
the  way  to  Montzeville  was  a  poste  de  secours,  an  abri 
into  the  side  of  a  hill,  in  the  Bois  de  Bethelainville,  which 
was  used  mostly  for  sick  and  for  men  slightly  wounded  or 
suffering  from  trench  feet.  It  was  a  good  specimen  of  one 
of  these  side-hill  dugouts. 

The  most  interesting  part  of  the  run  was  from  Montze- 
ville to  Esnes,  as  the  road  wound  back  of  the  famous  Hill 
304,  so  that  on  active  nights  we  had  a  good  view  of  the 
star-shells  and  the  general  fireworks.  This  road,  I  may 
add,  was  most  desolate  in  appearance  —  along  each  side 
being  only  the  stumps  of  trees,  broken-down  wagons, 
smashed  automobiles,  old  wire  entanglements  and  debris 
thrown  over  the  ditches ;  and  furthermore,  it  was  rather  a 
river  of  soupy  mud  than  a  highway.  There  was  one  spot 
in  it  which  was  particularly  bad,  full  of  shell-holes,  with  a 
spring  underneath.  Here  we  frequently  had  to  build 
across  it  a  sort  of  temporary  bridge  of  logs  and  small 
wood,  in  order  to  get  through  with  our  ambulances ;  some- 
times even  we  had  to  take  out  the  blesses  and  replace  them 
after  our  cars  had  passed  the  worst  stretch. 

Esnes  itself  was  absolutely  in  ruins,  with  debris  littered 
about  everywhere.  The  remains  of  the  church  were  espe- 
cially impressive  on  moonlight  nights,  and  from  it  led  a 
sort  of  broken  road  to  the  ruins  of  what  had  once  been  a 
chateau,  in  whose  cellar  was  the  poste  de  secours.  We 
called  this  little  road  "Hogan's  Alley,"  and  on  black 
nights  it  was  far  from  easy  to  find  one's  way  in.  Back  of 
the  chateau,  was  a  battery  of  "  90's,"  and  often  the  Boche 
guns  in  trying  to  get  it  would  send  shells  into  "Hogan's 

424 


SECTION  FOUR 


Alley"  and  into  the  courtyard  of  the  chateau  in  front  of 
the  poste.  Fortunately  none  of  our  drivers  or  their 
wounded  were  ever  hit  there,  although  several  had  some 
narrow  escapes,  while  some  of  our  cars  were  not  so  for- 
tunate. The  same  good  luck  was  with  us  on  the  road  from 
Montzeville  and  going  through  the  streets  of  Esnes. 

An  Attack 

At  about  4  p.m.,  on  December  7,  the  Boches  made  a  very 
vicious  attack  on  our  340th  Regiment,  which  was  in  the 
trenches  between  the  Mort  Homme  and  Hill  304,  and 
drove  a  salient  into  our  line,  thus  being  able  to  shoot  en 
enfilade  down  our  trenches.  Our  first  car  up,  leaving  Jube- 
court  at  3.30  heard  the  tir  de  barrage  from  the  top  of 
Bethelainville  Hill,  and  in  spite  of  the  dusk  and  fog  could 
see  the  innumerable  gas-flashes.  On  reaching  Montzeville 
we  found  everything  was  fairly  lively  and  the  blesses  al- 
ready being  brought  to  the  poste.  At  this  point  the  tele- 
phone communications  were  cut,  and  as  the  orders  were 
to  take  the  farthest  and  most  important  poste  first,  the 
driver  would  leave  word  for  the  second  car  to  take  back 
to  the  triage  all  blesses  from  Montzeville. 

This  bringing  in  the  wounded  was  slow  work  on  ac- 
count of  the  awful  mud  which  was  nearly  up  to  the  knees 
of  the  brancardiers,  so  that,  naturally,  progress  was  diffi- 
cult for  them.  For  example,  it  took  four  brancardiers  an 
average  of  four  hours  to  make  the  trip  of  eight  hundred 
yards  to  the  trenches  and  back  with  one  blesse  coiiche.  In 
the  end,  twelve  additional  ambulances  were  telephoned 
for  and  arrived  in  about  an  hour.  They  worked  all  night, 
some  all  the  following  day,  and  part  of  them  during  the 
next  night  —  such  a  labor  was  it  to  get  the  wounded  to 
safety.  The  roads  were  full  of  troops,  wagons,  and  guns, 
which  did  not  help  matters.  The  poste  in  Esnes  was  much 
congested  with  the  ambulances  coming,  going,  and  wait- 
ing outside  for  the  wounded  and  with  the  brajtcardiers 
bringing  them  in  in  a  steady  stream.  Montzeville  was  the 
same.  We  also  made  trips  to  the  poste  at  Hill  2^2.  In  fact 

425 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


the  attacks  and  counter-attacks  kept  us  very  busy  for 
two  weeks,  our  Division  regaining  all  the  lost  trenches 
except  one  salient. 

A  few  days  before  Christmas  we  took  over  an  additional 
poste  de  secours  to  the  left  of  Esnes,  known  then  as  the 
Coupeur  d' Esnes  and  later  as  poste  B.  2.  This  was  on  the 
edge  of  the  Foret  de  Hesse,  between  Esnes  and  Avocourt, 
and  about  a  kilometre  behind  the  French  trenches.  The 
French  ambulances  had  never  been  up  to  that  poste,  their 
weight  making  it  impossible  for  them  to  run  on  the  bad 
road.  But  our  light  Fords  were  able  to  bring  the  service 
two  and  three  kilometres  nearer  the  lines,  saving  much 
time  and  labor  for  hrancardiers,  who  before  this  brought 
back  the  blesses  either  by  hand  or  with  two-wheeled  carts. 

Snow  at  the  Front  —  Repos 

After  December  15,  we  began  to  get  lots  of  snow,  sleet, 
and  hail,  and  the  weather  became  much  colder,  which 
did  not  make  the  driving  any  easier.  There  were  times 
even  when,  notwithstanding  chains,  we  had  to  put  blan- 
kets under  the  wheels  in  order  to  get  up  the  hills  —  espe- 
cially the  Dombasle  Hill  which  w^as  particularly  steep. 

During  the  first  week  in  January,  191 7,  our  Division 
went  en  repos  for  a  w^eek,  preparatory  to  changing  sectors, 
the  Division  to  which  Section  One  was  attached  taking 
its  place.  Section  One  came  over  and  took  our  quarters  at 
Ippecourt  while  we  moved  into  large  vacated  barracks  of 
the  hospital  at  Glorieux  on  the  edge  of  Verdun  for  our 
repos,  when  every  man  of  our  Section  had  an  opportunity 
to  visit  thoroughly  the  famous  city. 

The  Argonne  —  Work  in  the  Woods 

About  the  middle  of  January  our  Division  moved  over 
farther  to  the  left  in  the  Argonne  sector  back  of  Vauquois 
and  Avocourt.  We  went  with  it  and  took  up  quarters  in 
Rarecourt,  where  we  replaced  English  Section  Ten  and 
assumed  the  work  at  new  postes,  most  of  which  were  in 
the  woods.  Every  afternoon  we  made  a  ramassage  with 

426 


w^_. 

^^ 

1 

f 

k 

.-1  'sK^^^^^H 

i 

£m  i 

1 

1 

1 

SECTION  FOUR 


an  ambulance,  visiting  the  different  camps  in  the  woods, 
getting  the  sick  and  taking  them  back  to  the  triage.  Our 
runs  to  the  postes  avances  were  long,  and  on  dark  nights 
very  difficult  owing  to  the  woods  shutting  out  every 
vestige  of  light.  Nevertheless,  either  because  we  had 
good,  careful  drivers,  or  good  luck,  or  both,  it  was  extra- 
ordinary how  few  accidents  we  had.  The  work  was  light, 
however,  but  the  weather  was  exceedingly  cold  —  the 
coldest  winter  in  twenty-two  years,  in  fact.  Yet  it  was 
the  mud  that  was  the  most  disagreeable  feature  of  the 
situation.  All  the  ahris  were  made  well  down  in  the  ground 
and  whenever  there  came  a  thaw  this  mud  was  every- 
w^here  and  most  irritating. 

The  cars  were  kept  on  twenty-four  hours'  piquet  at 
Camp  Derv^in  and  at  Bon  Abri,  running  on  call  to  Les 
Ailleux  and  B.  i.  The  poste  at  Les  Ailleux  was  within 
about  four  hundred  yards  of  the  Boche  lines  and  B.  i 
about  one  kilometre.  As  in  the  other  sectors  of  our  service, 
here,  too,  we  were  able  to  advance  the  postes  beyond 
where  they  had  been  before,  our  light  Fords  being  able  to 
travel  over  the  bad  roads.  B.  i,  for  instance,  was  at  least 
three  kilometres  nearer  the  lines  than  had  ever  been  the 
case  before. 

The  other  poste  to  which  we  sent  a  night  piquet  was 
Neuvilly,  the  ruins  of  what  must  have  once  been  an 
attractive  village  on  the  banks  of  a  large  stream.  From 
there  we  sometimes  went  on  call  to  a  poste  called  Ahri 
Brainere,  which  was  really  very  much  exposed,  as  the 
road  to  it  was  in  plain  view  of  the  German  trenches  and 
not  over  five  hundred  yards  from  them.  On  the  way  to 
Neuvilly  we  passed  through  the  ruins  of  Clermont,  which 
had  once  been  a  beautiful  town.  Even  as  it  was,  the 
ruins  were  most  impressive.  The  town  had  been  built 
around  a  great  natural  acropolis  of  rock,  the  top  of  which 
was  covered  with  pine  trees.  On  moonlight  nights,  par- 
ticularly when  there  was  snow  on  the  ground,  the  lines 
of  the  ruins  against  the  white  and  sky,  with  the  acropo- 
lis looming  up,  made  a  wonderful  if  saddening  picture. 

427 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


On  February  12,  191 7,  Oliver  H.  Perry,  our  Chef,  left 
us,  much  to  our  regret,  after  a  year's  service,  during  which 
time  he  had  contributed  much  to  the  splendid  spirit  of 
service  which  existed  in  the  Section. 

Owing  to  the  extreme  cold  and  to  the  fact  that  it  was 
very  difficult  to  find  wood,  to  say  nothing  of  coal,  there 
was  considerable  sickness  in  the  Section,  so  that  at  times 
only  fifty  per  cent  of  the  drivers  were  well  enough  to  send 
out  on  service. 

The  Champagne 

Toward  the  last  of  April  Section  Four  left  the  64th  Di- 
vision after  having  served  it  sixteen  months,  preparatory 
to  joining  a  new  Division,  which  we  expected  would  be 
in  the  Champagne  sector.  In  many  w^ays  this  was  a  sad 
parting,  as  we  had  so  many  friends  in  the  Division,  and 
yet  we  were  glad  to  move  to  what  promised  to  be  a  more 
active  field.  In  the  meantime  we  received  a  splendid  let- 
ter of  thanks  and  appreciation  for  our  service  from  Gen- 
eral Colin.  Then  we  went  en  repos  for  three  days  at 
Fains,  a  town  on  the  outskirts  of  Bar-le-Duc,  where  we 
received  orders  to  move  and  report  to  the  Fourth  Army 
at  Chalons,  going  thence  to  Bussy-le-Chateau,  about 
twenty-five  kilometres  out  from  Chalons,  where  we  took 
on,  temporarily,  evacuation  w^ork  for  a  large  hospital. 

After  ten  days  we  received  orders  that  we  would  be 
attached  shortly  to  the  20th  Division,  Fourth  Army  — 
one  of  the  best  —  and  be  sent  up  into  action.  At  this 
time  Henry  Iselin  became  Chef,  Although  a  young  man, 
he  had  seen  long  service,  and  quickly  won  the  respect 
and  admiration  of  all. 

William  de  Ford  Bigelow  ^ 


^  Of  Cohasset,  Massachusetts;  Harvard,  *oo;  a  member  of  the  Field 
Service  from  August,  19 16,  until  its  militarization;  served  as  driver  and 
Chef  m  Section  Four;  later,  as  Captain,  commanded  a  pare;  subsequently 
a  Major  in  the  U.S.  Army  Ambulance  Service. 


IV 
Villers-Marmery  —  Mont  Cornillet 

1917 

The  personnel  of  Section  Four  was  largely  renewed  in 
the  spring  of  19 17,  and  a  dozen  more  or  less  inexperienced 
men  came  from  the  Field  Service  camp  at  May-en- 
Multien,  May  9,  191 7,  to  join  us  at  Villers-Marmery,  in 
the  Champagne,  where  we  were  informed  that  we  were 
to  join  the  20th  Division,  loth  Army  Corps,  of  the 
Fourth  Army.  The  delight  of  the  Section  was  un- 
bounded when  we  heard  that  we  were  to  be  attached  to 
that  crack  attacking  portion  of  the  French  Army.  Other 
Sections  had  tried  in  vain  to  get  the  job,  but  it  took 
Lieutenant  de  Turckheim  to  secure  it  for  us. 

We  were  to  take  over  the  work  of  a  French  ambulance 
section,  and  for  that  reason  the  new  men  of  our  group 
were  sent  first,  in  order  that  they  might  work  with  experi- 
enced drivers,  and  thus  learn  the  roads,  pastes,  etc.,  under 
the  most  favorable  circumstances.  The  next  day,  on  the 
loth  of  May,  the  second  half  of  our  Section  moved  to 
Villers-Marmery  and  took  over  the  work  of  the  French. 
As  soon  as  we  got  into  camp  and  had  had  some  lunch,  we 
went  to  our  posies  to  relieve  the  old  piquet.  We  had  French 
orderlies  to  show  us  the  way  to  our  posies,  after  which 
they  said  farewell  and  went  back  to  their  cantonment  on 
the  returning  cars,  leaving  us  to  our  own  devices.  The 
assumption  was  that  we  were  experienced  men  and  could 
take  care  of  ourselves. 

Our  front  posies  were  at  Fosse-aux-Ours,  the  camp  of 
our  poste  de  secours  at  the  hoyau  at  the  foot  of  Mont 
Cornillet,  and  at  Wez,  near  Thuizy,  a  little  to  the  left  of 
Mont  Cornillet.  From  Wez  we  worked  a  poste  at  the 
Maisonnette,  a  small  railroad  crossing  in  the  midst  of  a 
swamp  not  far  from  Prunay.  The  poste  at  the  hoyau  was 

429 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


a  little  bridge  that  crossed  an  old  trench.  There  was 
just  room  to  crawl  in  on  your  hands  and  knees  and 
lie  down.  It  was  a  draughty,  damp,  uncomfortable  hole. 
The  approach  to  this  poste  was  over  a  plain  which  lay 
under  observation  by  the  Boches  from  a  hill  back  of 
Cornillet  and  somewhat  to  the  left.  The  road  was  heavily 
screened  but  we  had  to  drive  slowly  so  as  not  to  raise  a 
dust,  which  would  rise  above  the  screen  and  warn  the 
Boches  that  the  road  was  being  used.  Here  the  road  was 
for  the  most  part  very  good,  just  the  opposite  of  the  road 
from  Wez  to  the  Maisonnette,  which  ran  through  a 
swamp.  Around  Fosse-aux-Ours  and  the  boyau,  where  the 
batteries  abounded,  the  Germans  did  comparatively  little 
shelling,  and  at  the  Maisonnette,  where  the  French  bat- 
teries were  less  active,  the  Boches  kept  up  quite  a  shell 
display.  The  road  was  cut  to  pieces  and  the  swampy  soil 
made  travelling  most  difficult.  One  afternoon  two  of  the 
fellows  timed  the  arrivees  and  in  two  hours  the  Boches 
threw  in  eight  hundred  shells.  The  Maisonnette  poste  was 
in  a  log  abri  not  far  from  a  railroad.  All  this  railroad 
needed  to  fix  it  up  was  a  new  roadbed,  new  ties,  new  rails, 
and  a  new  crossing.  In  time  the  road  from  Wez  became 
so  bad  that  we  drove  to  the  Maisonnette  only  on  call. 
Besides  these  posies,  we  had  a  car  stationed  at  Livry-sur- 
Vesle  at  the  Direction  du  Service  de  Sante.  Here  a  fellow 
could  get  a  good  rest  for  twenty-four  hours  and,  if  he  were 
fortunate,  alittletaxi  service  for  the MedecinDivisionnaire. 

While  in  the  Champagne  we  did  no  evacuation  work 
(that  is,  carrying  the  blesses  from  the  triage  or  sorting  hos- 
pitals to  other  hospitals).  We  carried  our  blesses  to  the 
triage  in  Villers-Marmery  and  S.S.U.  13  did  our  evacua- 
tion work.  The  peculiar  thing  is  that  in  all  our  front  work 
we  had  no  casualties,  while  Section  Thirteen,  working 
back,  had  three  of  its  members,  its  lieutenant  and  two 
drivers,  meet  an  obus  and  come  out  second  best.  Cest  la 
guerre! 

On  the  1 2th  of  May  the  French  began  to  rush  up  a  lot 
of  their  zouaves,  and  Madagascar  and  Senegalese  negroes 

430 


SECTION  FOUR 


to  join  the  19th  Division,  stationed  on  Mont  Blanc,  at  the 
immediate  right  of  our  Division.  While  the  troops  moved 
forward,  the  French  cannon  quieted  down  a  bit,  so  as  not 
to  draw  too  much  of  the  hostile  fire  on  the  batteries  that 
skirted  the  roads.  This  did  not  prevent  the  Boches  from 
throwing  shrapnel  over  the  road,  however. 

The  Attack  in  Champagne 

On  the  20th  of  May  our  whole  Section  was  ordered  out 
for  the  attack  about  to  start.  We  sent  fourteen  ambu- 
lances to  Fosse-aux-Ours  and  four  or  five  to  Wez.  The 
attack  by  the  19th  Division  was  to  begin  at  noon.  From 
about  8.30  on,  the  French  batteries  let  loose.  It  was  like 
a  giant  corn-popper.  At  noon  the  troops  advanced.  Look- 
ing through  a  break  in  the  woods,  we  could  see  the  splen- 
did troops  go  up  the  hill,  wave  after  wave,  to  get  the 
Boches.  Before  the  attack  the  French  had  held  one  side 
of  the  range,  the  Germans  the  other  side.  Three  times 
before  had  the  French  attacked  and  failed.  The  Boches 
had  held  their  positions  from  shell-holes  and  concrete 
machine-gun  emplacements.  Three  times  the  French  had 
been  unable  to  maintain  the  ground  they  had  gained. 
This  was  the  fourth  attempt,  and  they  were  determined 
to  succeed.  The  20th  Division  attacked  at  the  same  time 
as  the  19th,  and  succeed  they  did,  but  the  decision  was 
close. 

The  wounded  began  to  come  in  about  eight  o'clock  in 
the  evening.  We  were  kept  quite  busy,  but  less  so  than 
we  had  feared.  Most  of  the  wounded  had  fallen  in  No 
Man's  Land,  and  as  soon  as  the  fever  of  the  attack  had 
cooled  down,  the  Boches  turned  their  machine-guns  on 
those  blesses,  and  there  they  died,  French  and  German. 
The  only  ones  we  carried  were  those  who  had  fallen  in  and 
near  the  trenches. 

The  next  day  the  authorities  started  to  withdraw  the 
negroes  and  send  them  to  the  rear.  They  are  wonderful 
men  for  attacking,  but  do  not  stand  up  well  under  the 
hammering  of  counter-attacks.  On  the  25th  of  May  our 

431 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Division  moved  out  of  the  trenches  and  went  back  en 
repos.  They  had  been  in  the  trenches,  attacking,  for  a 
month  and  they  were  about  "all  in."  On  the  26th  we 
followed  our  Division  en  repos,  turning  over  the  work  to 
the  French  Section  that  came  to  relieve  us. 

We  went  under  tents  at  Rouffy,  a  little  village  about 
midway  between  Chalons  and  Epernay.  The  Section  re- 
mained there  from  May  26  to  June  15,  overhauling 
cars,  washing,  scrubbing,  sweating,  loafing,  playing,  enter- 
taining the  Frenchmen  and  getting  acquainted  with 
them.  We  had  been  too  busy  at  Villers-Marmery  to  be- 
come acquainted  with  our  allies,  and  now  was  our  chance! 
On  the  15th  of  June  we  followed  our  Division  to  Verdun, 
making  our  home  in  an  old  hospital  at  Baleycourt. 

Leon  H.  Buckler  ^ 


1  Of  Rochester,  N.Y.;  a  member  of  Section  Four  from  December,  19 16, 
until  the  Service  was  taken  over  by  the  U.S.  Army.  Subsequently  a 
Sergeant  in  the  U.S.A.  Ambulance  Service.  Died  of  pneumonia  at  the 
front  on  September  23,  191 8. 


•Hua<.^ 


V 

The  Verdun  Attack  of  August,  191 7 

July  28,  191 7,  will  long  be  remembered  by  us,  for  in  the 
night  a  most  violent  explosion,  several  miles  beyond 
Verdun,  broke  nearly  all  the  windows  of  our  quarters  and 
served  as  a  good  prelude  to  the  Boche  air  raids  which 
were  to  come  later.  At  this  time  the  pastes  d' evacuation 
were  at  Bras  and  Montgrignon  and  the  triage  in  Verdun. 
This  latter,  however,  was  changed  on  August  5,  to  Glo- 
rieux,  and  the  Section  did  both  evacuation  and  triage  work, 
which  was  not  hard  at  this  time,  but  which  became  in- 
creasingly difficult  with  the  moving-up  of  artillery  and 
troops  in  preparation  for  the  great  offensive.  Enormous 
guns  were  placed  on  each  side  of  our  camp  at  Baleycourt, 
and  though  they  were  well  concealed,  within  one  hour 
after  they  had  fired  the  first  shot  the  Germans  replied, 
their  shells  landing  in  a  field  In  close  proximity  to  our 
guns  and  camp.  In  addition  to  a  daily  bombardment,  the 
Boche  aviators  came  nearly  every  night  to  bomb,  so  that 
a  good  ahri  was  a  necessity.  Such  a  one  was  made  and 
resorted  to  about  every  night  until  after  the  battle,  which 
broke  forth  in  all  its  fury  on  August  20. 

During  the  entire  period  of  that  terrible  night,  the 
enemy  maintained  a  firm  reply  to  the  fierce  barrage  of  the 
French  artillery,  with  the  result  that  daylight  uncovered 
a  series  of  ghastly  scenes  along  the  road  to  Bras.  But 
nothing  dampened  our  spirits  as  we  worked  that  fine, 
clear  day,  while  report  after  report  brought  news  of  splen- 
did French  successes.  By  noon,  all  the  objectives  had  been 
attained,  while  the  transportation  of  the  wounded  pro- 
ceeded smoothly.  In  the  afternoon,  however,  the  work 
threatened  to  become  messed  up,  for  the  reserv^e  ambu- 
lances, which  had  been  hidden  behind  a  camouflage  at 
Petit  Bras,  found  themselves  forced  to  fly  in  haste,  the 

433 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


enemy  concentrating  their  shelling  for  half  an  hour  on 
that  spot. 

Soon  the  increasing  number  of  wounded  crowded  the 
poste  at  Bras,  and  a  temporary  one  was  established  up 
about  halfway  from  Bras  to  Vacherauville.  But  the  next 
morning,  after  a  further  advance  of  the  French  troops, 
this  poste  was  abandoned,  and  the  ambulances  began  to 
work  as  far  forward  as  Vacherauville.  That  day  a  still 
further  advance  poste  was  established  at  a  place  called  La 
Cage,  but  after  a  few  attempts  to  run  to  it,  the  impracti- 
cability of  the  venture  was  manifest. 

For  three  days  and  nights  Section  Four  worked  with 
Section  Eighteen  in  transporting  wounded  from  Bras 
and  Vacherauville  to  the  triage  at  Glorieux. 

On  Tuesday  night  of  the  attack,  after  Evans  had  left 
Bras  with  a  load  of  blesses,  a  shell  exploded  near  his 
machine,  wounding  him  in  the  arm  and  inflicting  new 
wounds  on  two  of  his  already  badly  wounded  couches. 
A  curious  incident  happened  in  connection  with  this  — 
an  eclat  of  the  shell  hit  the  gasoline  cock,  shutting  off  the 
supply  of  gas,  so  that  the  machine  ran  about  a  hundred 
yards  and  then  stopped.  Thereupon  Evans's  blesses  were 
taken  to  Glorieux,  while  he  went  to  Montgrignon,  where 
his  wound  was  dressed. 

Aeroplane  Bombs  —  Wounded  and  Killed 

This  event  was  followed  by  one  still  sadder  for  the  Sec- 
tion. In  the  night  of  August  22,  a  German  aviator  dropped 
a  bomb  which  struck  about  ten  paces  from  our  quarters, 
wounding  three  men,  our  French  brigadier  Berger  and 
drivers  Shreve  and  Greenhalgh.  Berger  was  so  grievously 
injured  that  he  died  a  few  days  later  and  now  sleeps  with 
hundreds  of  others  in  the  cemetery  of  Glorieux,  others 
who  like  him  are  morts  pour  la  France. 

Finally  the  bombing  became  so  bad  at  Baleycourt  that 
we  were  ordered  to  leave  and  take  new  quarters  at 
Glorieux,  the  change  being  made  on  the  last  day  of 
August,  which  did  not  prevent  us  from  keeping  one  am- 

434 


THE   G.B.D.    "POSTE"   AT  BRAS  ABOVE   VERDUN 


rO.STE  '    AT   VACHERAUVILLE   ON  AUCJIST  21,    1917,    WHEN 
THE   FRENCH  ADVANCED 


SECTION  FOUR 


bulance  always  on  duty  at  the  Verdun  citadel,  bombarded 
every  day  by  the  Germans. 

October,  19 17  —  Last  Days  of  Section  Four 

The  last  work  done  by  Section  Four  while  still  a  part  of 
the  American  Field  Service  was  difficult  —  indeed,  about 
as  hard  as  that  done  during  the  French  offensive  in 
August.  Cold  fall  rains  set  in  during  the  first  day  of 
October,  and  in  addition  to  working  the  pastes  mentioned 
above,  there  were  frequent  calls  to  Equarrissage  and 
Charny,  coupled  with  long  runs  to  Fleury  and  Souilly,  all 
of  which  made  the  work  increasingly  severe.  Cases  of 
trench  feet  increased  in  proportion  to  the  rain,  and  with 
four  sections  evacuating  from  front  pastes  to  the  Glorieux 
triage,  our  days  on  duty  there  became  very  hard  and 
trying  with  small  Fords  and  thirty-kilometre  runs.  But 
these  were  not  all  our  trials.  Members  of  the  Section  will 
remember  during  this  period  the  frequent  gas  attacks 
made  by  the  Germans  on  the  French  batteries  betAveen 
Vacherauville  and  Bras,  and  the  difficulty  of  driving 
through  the  gas  at  night  wearing  a  gas-mask.  Several  of 
us  were  gassed.  Finally,  having  served  in  the  Verdun  sector 
continuously  since  June,  and  outlived  there  five  other 
sections.  Section  Four  was  relieved  on  October  22,  1917, 
and  given  a  rest  which  it  had  richly  earned,  and  its  last 
month's  work  closed  in  a  fitting  manner  a  long  and  hon- 
orable career  as  a  member  of  the  American  Field  Service. 
How  honorable  this  career  was  is  best  illustrated,  perhaps, 
by  the  fact  that  when  the  Section  was  finally  relieved. 
Lieutenant  de  Turckheim,  its  French  Commander,  re- 
ceived four  Croix  de  Guerres  "to  be  given  to  four  of 
the  most  deserving  members."  ''But  I  returned  them," 
states  that  officer,  "saying  that  all  had  done  so  well 
that  it  would  be  unfair  to  pick  out  any  four." 

Charles  H.  Hunkins  ^ 

^  Of  Providence,  Rhode  Island;  Dartmouth  and  the  University  of  Paris; 
joined  the  Field  Service  in  June,  191 7;  subsequently  served  with  the  Mil- 
itary Censorship  Department,  United  States  Army. 

435 


VI 

Summary  of  the  Section's  History  under  the 
United  States  Army 

Section  Four  lost  its  identity  as  a  Field  Service  Section  dur- 
ing September  of  1917.  It  was  then  that  the  remnant  of  its  old 
personnel  officially  enlisted,  and  became  new  Section  627.  The 
Section  was  en  repos  at  the  time  in  a  little  village  by  the  name 
of  Villers-le-Sec  which  is  situated  about  forty  kilometres  to  the 
northwest  of  Bar-le-Duc.  Along  about  the  middle  of  October 
we  moved  back  to  the  front  in  the  Verdun  sector.  We  had  our 
quarters  in  the  small  village  of  Sommedieu,  where  we  were  des- 
tined to  spend  the  winter  of  191 7-1 8.  We  did  not  leave  this  sec- 
tor, which  was  remarkably  quiet  during  our  stay,  until  about 
the  1st  of  March.  During  all  this  time  we  were  serving  the  fa- 
mous 20th  Division  of  French  Infantry  which  hailed  from  the 
coast  of  Normandy.  In  this  sector  we  had  only  two  front  pastes 
which,  in  reality,  were  not  front  postes  at  all. 

The  1st  of  March,  191 8,  saw  us  en  repos  at  Pierrefitte,  a  siza- 
ble village  in  the  valley  of  the  Meuse.  After  a  few  days  we  were 
detached  from  our  Division,  which  was  to  be  broken  up  and 
sent  in  to  strengthen  various  parts  of  the  line  in  preparation  for 
the  coming  Boche  spring  offensive.  We  moved  to  Ravigny, 
which  is  only  the  name  of  a  patch  of  woods  to  the  east  of 
Souilly.  The  Section  had  been  with  the  20th  Division  for  over  a 
year,  and  so  it  was  hard  for  us  to  part  with  these  old  friends  of 
ours.  Also  we  lost  our  wonderful  French  Lieutenant,  the  Baron 
de  Turckheim.  While  we  were  at  Ravigny  the  first  Boche  at- 
tack broke  out  which  almost  resulted  in  the  taking  of  Amiens. 
Suddenly  we  got  orders  to  move.  Then  began  our  tour  of 
France.  We  made  the  voyage  all  the  way  from  the  valley  of  the 
Meuse  to  the  sea,  then  back  again  to  Doullens.  There  we  stayed 
for  a  short  time,  doing  the  drudgery  of  evacuation  work  for  the 
Tenth  Army.  The  Boche  again  attacked,  this  time  on  the 
Chemin  des  Dames,  and  we  were  ordered  south  to  replace  a 
French  Section  which  had  been  badly  handled  during  the  re- 
treat. We  were  with  the  1st  French  Division  of  Infantry,  at 
whose  head  was  General  Gregoire  aided  by  General  Duvais. 
We  went  into  action  in  the  Forest  of  Villers-Cotterets,  just  to 
the  northwest  of  that  famous  town. 

That  sector  was  what  one  would  call  "hot."  We  had  two 
main  front  postes  working  back  through  a  G.B.D.  poste  and 

436 


SECTION  FOUR 


then  to  the  Hopitatix  d' Evacuation,  which  were  situated  in  al- 
most every  little  village  behind  us.  Our  first  attack  was  that 
made  upon  the  Ferme  de  Chavigny.  During  a  period  of  about  a 
month  and  a  half,  half  the  Section  worked  one  day  and  the 
other  half  worked  the  next.  The  work  was  very  difficult,  for  the 
traffic  was  terrible,  and  to  add  to  the  amusement,  the  Boches 
made  out  rather  well  with  their  shelling.  After  the  coup  de 
main  on  the  Ferme  de  Chavigny,  we  were  ordered  en  repos 
again,  where  we  stayed  the  long  time  of  one  day  and  a  half. 
Then  we  were  ordered  back  for  the  ever-famous  attack  of  July 
1 8.  Our  Division  went  over  in  the  first  line  of  assault,  helped 
out  by  tanks.  We  advanced  steadily,  and  as  our  front  pro- 
gressed, we  passed  with  it  up  through  Longpont  to  our  old 
stamping-grounds  at  Villers-Helon,  Blancy,  Saint-Remy,  and 
le  Plessier-Huleu.  The  hottest  spot  was  le  Plessier-Huleu. 
There  many  of  the  men  had  to  drive  through  almost  a  barrage 
to  get  to  the  poste,  which  was  supposed  to  exist  in  the  above- 
mentioned  village.  Our  poor  old  division  w^as  finally  pulled  out 
of  the  line  and  we  went  en  repos  in  a  little  village  to  the  west  of 
that  famous  old  pile,  Pierrefonds.  There  we  stayed  for  a  few 
weeks,  and  then  we  began  our  second  trip  across  France,  going 
this  time  in  the  opposite  direction,  and  finally  finishing  up  in 
the  valley  of  Thann  —  to  be  specific,  the  village  of  Ranspach 
in  Alsace  Reconquise. 

It  was  here  we  had  to  report  the  deaths  of  three  of  the  finest 
men  in  the  Section.  Sergeant  Buckler,  Phil  Winsor,  and  the 
French  mechanic  who  really  had  no  right  to  be  in  the  war  at 
all.  They  died  of  influenza  and  were  buried  in  the  Vosges 
Mountains;  Sergeant  Buckler  and  the  French  mechanic  in  the 
military  cemetery  at  Urbes,  and  Philip  Winsor  in  the  cemetery 
of  Bussang,  with  all  the  honors,  such  as  they  are,  of  war. 

We  were  all  glad  when  about  the  ist  of  November  we  started 
on  another  trip  which  saw  our  Division  first  in  Belfort,  then 
near  Nancy.  At  Darney  we  first  began  to  hear  rumors  of  an 
armistice,  and  the  nth  of  November  saw  us  just  south  of 
Nancy,  ready  to  go  in  when  General  Mangin  was  to  begin  his 
great  attack  in  Lorraine.  At  Darney  the  Section  received  its 
citation  for  the  work  it  did  during  the  attack  at  Villers-Cotte- 
rets. 

Then  began  our  march  to  the  Rhine,  one  of  the  hardest  trips 
we  ever  had.  We  crossed  the  old  line  near  Chateau  Salins;  then 
went  up  through  the  valley  of  the  Sarre,  stopping  at  Saar- 
briicken,  Kircheim  Bolendon,  and  so  on  to  Mayence  where  we 
saw  Generals  Fayolle  and  Mangin  enter  the  city  in  triumph. 
We  then  went  on  to  Grosse  Gerau,  where  we  stayed  for  the 


437 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


winter.  Our  work  in  Germany  could  not  be  called  hard  or  diffi- 
cult. We  did  quite  a  good  deal  of  evacuation  work  from  the  old 
prison  camp  of  Darmstadt  —  the  name  of  the  camp  itself  being 
Barackenlager. 

At  Grosse  Gerau  we  stayed  until  we  were  ordered  to  report 
to  Paris  en  route  for  the  United  States  in  February,  1919. 

Hugh  J.  Kelleher  ^ 


»  Of  New  York  City;  Harvard,  '18;  joined  the  Field  Service  in  January, 
1917,  and  served  at  various  times  in  Sections  12,  3,  and  4;  with  the  U.S.A. 
Ambulance  Service  after  the  incorporation  of  the  Field  Service  in  the  U.S. 
Army. 


-^^^^m^MM^^^ 

2^ 

V 

IN  MEMORIAM 

■ 

Wilbur  Le  Roy  Boyer 

Leon  Hamlink  Buckler 

Eric  Anderson  Fowler 

Edward  Joseph  Kelley                           | 

Arthur  Richmond  Taber                        | 

Edward  Ilsley  Tinkham 

Phhjp  Winsor 

1 

Section  Eight 

THE  STORY  TOLD  BY 

I.  William  B.  Seabrook 
II.  Malbone  H.  Birckhead 

III.  Grenville  Temple  Keogh 

IV.  Charles  Law  Watkins 
V.  Austin  B.  Mason 

VI.  Harry  L.  Dunn 


SUMMARY 

Section  Eight  left  Versailles  on  May  25,  1916,  going  directly 
to  Champagne  in  the  Mourmelon  sector.  It  remained  there 
but  a  few  days  when  it  moved  on  to  Dugny  for  the  great  bat- 
tle of  Verdun.  It  next  served  in  the  region  of  Les  Eparges.  Re- 
ward came  in  the  form  of  an  extended  repos  in  the  Moselle 
region,  followed  by  a  long  journey  to  the  Somme  where  it  spent 
part  of  the  winter  of  1916-17.  From  there  it  went  to  the  Meuse, 
thence  to  Sainte-Menehould  and  the  Argonne  in  the  early 
spring  of  19 1 7.  In  April  of  the  same  year  the  Section  went  again 
to  Verdun.  From  there  it  moved  to  Champagne,  remaining  un- 
til August,  then  returning  once  more  to  Sainte-Menehould.  It 
was  while  here  that  Eight  was  taken  over  by  the  Army  in  the 
autumn  of  191 7,  as  Section  Six-Twenty-Eight  of  the  U.S.A. 
Ambulance  Service. 


%|(  r^ . 


Section  Eight' 


In  weariness  and  worry  and  mischance 

Remember  the  long  fortitude  of  France, 

And  write  in  deeds  your  country's  true  romance. 

Jefferson  B.  Fletcher 


The  Beginning 

It  was  about  the  first  of  May  that  our  Section  assembled 
in  the  General  Headquarters  at  Neuilly-sur-Seine.  The 
men  were  ready,  but  the  cars  were  not.  The  chassis  were 
standing  in  line  in  Kellner's  great  carrosserie  works,  near 
Sevres,  a  couple  of  miles  beyond  the  Bois  de  Boulogne, 
awaiting  the  construction  of  the  wooden  bodies  which 
were  only  half  completed.  Kellner  was  short  of  men,  and 
we  went  to  Kellner's.  Within  twenty-four  hours  men 
among  us  who  had  never  swung  anything  heavier  than  a 

*  The  numbers  attributed  by  the  French  Army  Automobile  Service  to  the 
ambulance  sections  of  the  American  Field  Service  were  not  always  consec- 
utive. Thus,  while  the  numbers  run  from  one  to  seventy-two,  this  Service 
really  embraced  but  thirty-three  separate  sections.  The  intervening  num- 
bers were  given  to  other  formations  provided  either  by  the  French  or  other 
countries.  In  general,  the  numbers  were  assigned  chronologically  according 
as  new  sections  were  provided.  In  some  later  instances,  however,  Field  Serv- 
ice sections  received  numbers  originally  borne  by  the  French  Army  sections, 
which  they  replaced. 

441 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


mashie  were  working  at  forge  and  anvil,  making  heavy 
iron  braces  and  hinges;  others  drilled  holes  in  the  wood 
and  iron;  still  others  screwed  and  riveted  the  parts  to- 
gether. The  sturdy  women,  who  were  working  by  hun- 
dreds in  place  of  men  who  had  gone  to  the  front,  stopped 
building  bomb-cases  and  handling  heavy  tools  to  watch 
us  for  an  instant  from  time  to  time,  and  bring  us  lit- 
tle sprigs  of  lily-of- the- valley,  ''le  muguet  qui  porte  bon- 
Jieur.''  The  French  carpenters  became  our  friends  and 
frequently  invited  us  to  share  the  coarse  bread  and  red 
wine  which  they  kept  loose  in  the  same  box  with  their 
tools,  by  way  of  refreshment  between  meals. 

In  eight  days  we  had  completed  the  work,  and  in  an- 
other twenty-four  hours  a  squad  switched  to  the  paint 
shops  and  covered  the  cars  with  the  official  battleship- 
gray.  On  Saturday,  May  20,  moving  pictures  were  taken 
of  the  Section  at  work  in  the  shops,  and  on  Sunday  morn- 
ing. May  21,  the  twenty  cars  were  standing  in  line  in 
front  of  the  hospital  at  Neuilly,  completely  equipped  and 
ready  for  the  field. 

Among  the  men  of  our  Section  who  worked  as  laborers 
and  mechanics  at  Kellner's  were  many  who  had  never 
handled  tools  before  —  the  Section  included  professional 
men,  business  men,  university  students,  Rhodes  scholars, 
a  minister  of  the  Gospel,  a  winner  of  golf  tournaments, 
and  even  a  dramatic  and  musical  critic.  Indeed,  our  meta- 
morphosis seemed  a  slight  thing  when  some  of  us  learned 
that  in  the  great  historic  porcelain  works  of  Sevres  im- 
mediately across  the  river  all  art  had  ceased  for  the  time 
being,  and  the  men  whose  brains  and  hands  had  only  a 
short  time  before  been  engaged  in  designing  plates  and 
vases  of  marvellous  grace  and  beauty  were  now  one  and 
all  occupied  solely  with  the  rude  labor  of  constructing 
immense  rough  earthenware  jars  and  acid-containers 
used  in  the  manufacture  of  high  explosives. 

No  ,matter  what  experiences  may  come  to  us  later,  we 
shall  never  forget  those  days  —  the  early  morning  rides 
from  Neuilly  through  the  Bois,  the  trees  in  leaf  and 

442 


SECTION  EIGHT 


flower,  the  silent  lakes  with  here  and  there  a  single  swan 
—  a  splotch  of  white  on  the  black  surface  of  the'  water 
beneath  tall  cypress  groves ;  perfect  beauty,  perfect  peace. 

Chdlons-sur-Marne,  May  25,  19 16 
We  started  this  morning  from  Versailles.  On  the  way  here 
we  began  to  see  wooden  crosses  dotting  the  fields  by  the 
roadside,  sometimes  a  single  grave,  sometimes  a  cluster, 
sometimes  a  field  full  of  them.  Each  cross  is  made  from 
an  upright  piece  of  pine  sapling  about  five  feet  high,  with 
a  cross-piece  of  the  same  wood  about  three  feet  in  length, 
the  bark  still  on,  and  the  name,  when  there  is  a  name, 
inscribed  on  a  small  board  nailed  to  the  centre.  Some 
of  the  crosses  stood  over  barren  mounds;  other  mounds 
were  covered  with  flowers;  but  beneath  them  all,  marked 
or  nameless,  lie  men  who  died  to  save  France. 

Mourmelon-le-Grand,  May  26 
From  Chalons  we  came  on  to  this  village  situated  in  the 
plains  of  Champagne  about  twenty-five  kilometres  south- 
west of  Reims  and  about  nine  kilometres  behind  the 
trenches.  This  is  to  be  our  headquarters  as  long  as  the 
6th  Army  Corps,  of  which  we  are  a  part,  remains  in  this 
sector. 

May  27 
To-day  Section  Eight  received  its  baptism  of  fire.  Three 
cars  were  called  to  Saint-Hilaire,  our  evacuation  poste 
eight  kilometres  from  Mourmelon  and  about  two  and  a 
half  kilometres  behind  the  first-line  trenches.  We  arrived 
there  under  a  German  bombardment.  "They  are  not 
firing  at  us,"  explained  the  French  sergeant  on  duty  there, 
at  the  entrance  to  his  dugout  and  smoking  a  pipe,  while 
a  half-dozen  of  his  stretcher-bearers  were  sitting  around 
under  the  trees;  "but  a  shell  timed  a  fraction  of  a  second 
earlier,  or  fired  a  fraction  of  a  centimetre  lower,  might 
land  here  by  accident;  so  we  had  better  get  our  blesses 
loaded  and  away."   Scarcely  had  the  sergeant  ceased 

443 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


speaking  when  the  shells  began  to  fly  about  us.  By  the 
way,  descriptions  of  how  one  feels  under  shell-fire  are 
always  inadequate  because  every  man  feels  differently; 
but  close  observation,  on  this  and  subsequent  occasions, 
of  the  men  of  our  Section,  seems  to  show  that  they  are 
alike  in  only  one  respect  —  they  all  hold  their  ground. 

May  29 
Calm  follows  storm  on  an  artillery  front,  as  we  discovered 
on  one  of  the  quiet  mornings  recently  when  an  officer 
consented  to  show  us  the  batteries  in  the  woods  behind 
the  evacuation  poste.  Though  many  of  the  guns  were 
quite  close  by,  they  were  so  skilfully  screened  by  trees 
and  brush-heaps  that  we  could  never  have  found  them 
without  a  guide.  Birds  were  singing,  the  trees  glistening 
from  a  flurry  of  rain,  while  the  sun  was  again  breaking 
through  the  leaves  around  the  now  silent  monsters  of 
destruction. 

We  surprised  the  Lieutenant  of  the  nearest  battery 
engaged,  like  Candide,  in  cultivating  his  garden.  He  had 
cleared  a  tiny  spot,  a  few  yards  wide,  facing  the  entrance 
of  his  bomb-proof  dugout,  and  had  planted  lettuce  and 
radishes,  with  rows  of  flowers  between  the  vegetable  beds. 
He  had  even  built  a  little  wooden  bench  w^here  he  could 
sit  and  smoke  his  pipe  and  dream  of  his  real  vegetable 
garden  in  Provence.  One  of  his  men  was  darning  socks; 
another  was  mending  a  shirt;  a  boy  who  looked  scarcely 
more  than  twenty  was  amusing  himself  tossing  bits  of 
bread  to  a  puppy;  while  others  were  reading  books  or 
laughing  over  last  week's  funny  papers  from  Paris.  "So 
you  find  an  opportunity  to  enjoy  life  even  here,"  one  of  us 
remarked  to  a  grizzled  veteran,  who,  with  a  smile  that  was 
half  a  sigh,  responded :  '^  Mais  il  lejaut,  on  est  tue  si  vite,'* 

From  Mourmelon  to  La  Veuve  —  En  Repos 

La  Veuve,  June  2 
A  FORMAL  order  came  to  our  Section  yesterday  instruct- 
ing us  to  leave  Mourmelon  at  2  a.m.  and  repair  to  the 

444 


SECTION  EIGHT 


stable  and  back  yard  of  the  Widow  Cueux,  in  this  village 
where  we  are  now  billeted.  We  filed  out  of  Mourmelon 
in  the  darkness,  running  without  lights,  but  by  2.30  the 
dawn  was  red  and  it  was  broad  daylight  at  3  a.m.,  when 
we  got  here,  turned  down  a  narrow  side  street,  found  the 
Widow  Cueux's  house  and  parked  our  cars  under  the 
sycamore  trees.  It  is  true  that  this  village  is  squalid;  it  is 
true  that  the  mayor  had  to  order  the  removal  of  large 
quantities  of  stable  manure  from  the  Widow  Cueux's 
premises  before  its  barn  doors  opened  to  receive  us ;  it  is 
true  that  a  score  of  our  own  huskiest  lads  had  to  work 
with  shovel  and  wheelbarrow  to  make  the  yard  habitable ; 
but  the  squalor  of  La  Veuve  has  its  picturesque  qualities, 
nevertheless.  It  straggles  along  the  main  road  from  Cha- 
lons to  Reims  just  where  the  Mourmelon  route  branches 
off.  And  the  very  thought  of  Reims  lying  at  the  far  end 
of  this  same  street  lends  romance  to  the  humble  town. 

June  3 
This  morning  the  poilus  who  are  en  repos  in  this  village 
introduced  us  to  the  corporal  who  has  "sixteen  bullets  in 
his  blanket,  but  not  a  scratch  on  his  skin."  He  proudly 
exhibited  the  blanket  and  told  us  how  the  poilus,  when  all 
patent  armour  devices  and  bullet-proof  jackets  had  failed 
to  deflect  the  German  rifle-fire,  had  themselves  invented, 
or  rather  discovered,  the  unknown  buffer  that  no  rifle 
bullet  can  pierce.  They  take  their  own  heavy  sleeping- 
blankets,  soak  them  in  water,  and  then  roll  two  or  three 
of  them  in  a  tight  wad,  sometimes  putting  a  knapsack  in 
the  centre  of  the  roll  to  make  it  thicker.  Crawling  along 
on  their  bellies,  pushing  the  wad  of  blankets  foot  by  foot 
in  front  of  them,  it  affords  just  enough  cover  to  protect 
them  from  horizontal  rifle-fire.  The  high  velocity  bullets, 
which  neither  wood  nor  steel  can  turn,- sink  into  the  soft, 
soggy,  woollen  roll  and  die  there,  harmless  as  eggs  in  a 
nest.  Many  another  trick  the  poilus  have  learned  in  order 
to  save  their  skins,  but  none  so  efficient  as  this  roll  of 
wet  blankets. 

445 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Taking  Stock  of  Ourselves  and  Neighbors 

June  10 
Our  ten  days  here  with  the  soldiers  of  our  Division, 
quartered  at  La  Veuve  and  in  neighboring  villages,  have 
given  us  a  splendid  opportunity  to  take  stock  of  our- 
selves and  also  to  learn  something  of  the  men  with  whom 
we  shall  be  associated  for  the  next  few  months.  We  are 
the  official  ambulance  section  of  the  12th  Division  of  the 
6th  Corps  of  the  Fourth  Army.  Our  Division  is  composed 
of  four  regiments  of  about  three  thousand  each,  totalling 
in  all  some  twelve  thousand  men.  We  are  as  much  a  part 
of  the  Division  as  if  we  were  all  born  Frenchmen.  Our 
rations  are  furnished  by  the  army;  we  are  under  army 
regulations;  billeted  in  our  sleeping  quarters  by  the 
army;  each  of  us  receives  five  sous  per  day,  the  regular 
pay  of  the  poilu;  and  each  of  us  receives  his  army  ration 
of  pipe- tobacco  every  ten  days.  Back  in  Paris  the  Field 
Service  furnished  us  a  list  of  things  which  we  ought  to 
have;  but  all  this  would  have  been  as  appropriate  for  a 
hard  auto-camping  trip  across  the  American  continent  in 
time  of  peace  as  it  is  for  our  present  purposes  here.  On  the 
first  day  of  our  arrival  at  the  front,  the  army  added  two 
items  for  each  of  us  more  important  than  all  the  rest, 
namely,  one  regulation  steel  casque  and  one  regulation 
gas-mask.  So  here  we  are,  poilus  and  comrades  like  the 
rest,  by  these  two  tokens,  and  by  the  aluminum  num- 
bered identification  tags  which  we  wear  on  a  chain  around 
our  wrists. 

June  II 
The  regiment  which  we  have  learned  to  know  best  is  the 
67th,  as  it  is  quartered  in  La  Veuve.  It  has  been  one  of  the 
hardest  hit  by  the  war ;  thirty  thousand  men  have  passed 
through  it  during  the  past  sixteen  months.  As  they 
marched  by  in  closed  ranks  at  a  review  the  other  day,  we 
could  recognize  many  faces  of  new-made  friends.  How 
many  of  them,  we  wonder,  will  be  left  "Id-bas''  in  the 

446 


SECTION  EIGHT 


next  attack;  how  many  will  be  brought  back  bleeding 
and  broken  in  our  ^'belles  petites  voitures,"  which  they 
have  gathered  around  so  often  in  the  evening  to 
admire. 

We  were  merely  spectators  at  the  review.  An  hour  later 
our  new  Commander,  General  Giraudon,  left  his  limou- 
sine, left  his  prancing  steed,  left  his  general  staff,  and 
came  down  the  alley  on  foot  through  the  mud  to  our  barn- 
yard, accompanied  only  by  an  orderly,  to  "review"  his 
new  ''section  sanitaire.'"  As  we  are  all  under  military 
regulations,  we  scarcely  dared  to  blink  an  eyelid  as  we 
stood  stifBy  beside  our  cars  on  his  arrival.  The  General 
walked  along  the  line  and  stopped  before  Boyd.  We  had 
been  given  our  instructions  ^to  stand  at  attention  and  not 
salute  while  under  inspection ;  so  Boyd  stood  like  a  statue, 
until  it  became  unmistakably  evident  that  the  General 
intended  speaking  to  him.  Boyd's  hand  then  started  to- 
ward his  cap  in  a  salute  that  was  never  finished.  Those 
of  us  up  the  line  never  will  know  exactly  what  happened 
in  that  embarrassing  half-second ;  but  an  instant  later  the 
General  and  Boyd  were  shaking  hands  in  good  American 
fashion,  while  words  escaped  Boyd's  lips  which  sounded 
suspiciously  like  ''How  are  you?"  The  ice  was  broken, 
and  when  the  General  left  he  told  us  he  was  proud  to 
have  an  American  section  in  his  division. 

Our  only  duties  while  en  repos  here  have  been  to  trans- 
port occasional  sick  men  in  the  Division.  Most  of  our  time 
off  duty  has  been  spent  exchanging  visits  and  souvenirs 
with  the  poilus  of  the  67th,  who  have  been  very  much 
taken  with  the  American  songs.  Every  evening  they 
gather  in  a  ring  before  the  cars  to  hear  Armour,  Jacobs, 
and  the  other  musical  members  of  the  Section  singing  to 
the  accompaniment  of  mandolin  and  guitars.  One  night 
they  decided  it  would  be  appropriate  for  them  to  exchange 
courtesies,  and  they  invited  the  Section  to  the  sleeping- 
quarters  of  one  of  the  companies  in  a  neighboring  bam, 
where  wine  and  cakes  were  served  in  the  straw,  and  chan- 
sons de  guerre  were  sung. 

447 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Brabant-le-Roi  —  DuGNY  —  Verdun 

Brabant-le-Roi,  June  12 
Fifty  kilometres  we  came  in  cold  and  rain,  and  here  we 
are,  quartered  for  three  days  in  a  huge  stock-farm  barn 
with  Verdun  fifty-five  kilometres  farther  north.  But  we 
are  still  too  far  away  to  hear  the  guns. 

June  13 
Still  at  Brabant-le-Roi. 

It  was  among  the  ruins  of  one  of  the  little  villages  in 
the  Marne  that  Charlie  Faulkner  encountered  and  made 
friends  with  a  fluffy-haired  puppy  of  mongrel  breed  in 
which  the  setter  seemed  to  predominate,  and  straightway 
adopted  him  as  the  mascot  of  Section  Eight.  After  the 
puppy  was  washed  and  as  many  of  the  fleas  removed  from 
his  hide  as  possible,  the  problem  of  a  name  presented  it- 
self. Some  one  suggested  the  name  of  ''Pinard,"  which 
is  war-time  slang  for  the  red  wine  furnished  the  men  in 
the  trenches,  and  the  soldiers  found  both  the  dog  and  the 
name  so  droll  that  Pinard  became  not  only  the  mascot  of 
our  American  Section,  but  the  joke  and  the  pet  of  the 
whole  French  Division.  Some  of  the  boys  of  the  Section 
who  are  not  very  strong  on  French,  have  anglicized 
Pinard's  name  and  call  him  "Peanut." 

Dugny,  June  21 
This  village  is  four  kilometres  behind  the  city  of  Verdun. 
Here  we  have  been  with  our  Division  since  the  i8th  inst. 
We  will  remain  here  for  perhaps  a  fortnight  longer,  when 
we  will  be  sent  back  en  repos  and  replaced  by  a  new 
Division.  Three  weeks  is  about  the  limit  of  human  endur- 
ance. For  four  nerve-racking  days  and  nights  our  little 
cars  have  been  climbing  to  the  citadel  of  Verdun,  turning 
to  the  right  and  going  into  the  hills  among  the  batteries 
and  bursting  shells,  to  a  poste  de  secours  in  the  Fort  of 
Tavannes,  less  than  two  kilometres  behind  Vaux  and  the 
first-line  trenches.  The  road  by  which  we  pass  is  shelled 

448 


SECTION  EIGHT 


day  and  night.  Ambulance  drivers  have  been  killed  and 
wounded  in  the  sections  which  preceded  us.  We  have 
seen  men  mangled  by  shells  bursting  a  few  yards  away  in 
front  of  us  while  we  have  escaped.  We  have  driven  our 
cars  over  the  bodies  of  dying  horses.  Three  of  our  cars 
have  been  pierced  by  shrapnel  and  shell  fragments.  Yet 
not  a  man  among  us  has  been  touched.  Lack  of  sleep,  the 
continued  noise  of  artillery,  bad  drinking-water  and  the 
attendant  dysentery  have  put  our  nerves  on  edge;  but 
we  are  doing  the  work,  and  the  one  thought  in  the 
minds  of  all  of  us,  when  we  are  not  too  worn  out  to 
think  at  all,  is  that,  come  what  may,  we  are  going 
to  stick  it  out. 

It  is  hard  to  write  about  —  this  Verdun  service.  Those 
of  us  who  used  to  laugh  at  danger  have  stopped  laughing. 
Those  of  us  who  used  to  turn  pale  have  got  the  same  set 
look  about  the  jaw^s  and  eyes  as  the  rest,  but  we  no 
longer  change  color.  We  don't  come  back  any  longer  and 
tell  each  other  with  excited  interest  how  close  to  our 'car 
this  or  that  shell  burst  —  it  is  sufficient  that  we  come 
back. 

June  22 
The  hundred  and  sixty  hrancardiers,  or  stretcher-bearers, 
of  our  Division  had  to  be  transported  from  Houdainville, 
near  Dugny,  to  Fort  Tavannes,  and  the  duty  fell  to  us. 
Each  car  made  about  four  trips  by  night  during  a  period 
of  thirty-six  hours,  in  the  midst  of  conditions  like  those 
described  In  my  last  entry.  It  was  inevitable  that  some 
of  our  cars  and  some  of  our  men  would  be  touched.  Three 
of  our  twenty  cars  were  en  panne,  and  the  other  seventeen 
were  doing  the  work  supposed  normally  to  be  done  by 
two  sections  totalling  forty  cars.  It  was  during  this  time 
of  stress  that  we  also  evacuated  540  wounded  from 
Tavannes  Fort  to  Dugny,  a  distance  of  fifteen  kilometres 
each  way,  in  twenty-four  hours,  making  the  record  of  the 
war,  so  far,  for  that  particular  poste,  and  for  that  speci- 
fied length  of  time. 

449 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Riddled  with  Eclats 

June  23 
Night  before  last  Davison^  answered  a  midnight  Ta- 
vannes  call  and  had  his  car  pierced  through  and  through 
with  shell  fragments  as  he  was  entering  the  fort.  The  next 
morning,  as  I  was  leaving  the  fort  with  a  load  of  wounded, 
my  car  was  struck  in  the  same  way.  Both  Davison  and  I 
were  untouched,  but  one  of  the  wounded  men  in  my  car 
was  hit  in  the  side  by  a  small  fragment.  In  the  afternoon, 
Rogers,^  lying  on  the  grass  near  our  dining-tent,  received 
a  slight  surface  wound  in  the  leg  from  a  stray  piece  of 
shell.  Yesterday  morning  the  entrance  tunnel  of  the  same 
fort  was  caved  in  by  German  "380"  high-explosive  shells. 
Rogers,  Faulkner,  Boyd,  and  MacMonagle^  were  in  the 
fort  at  the  time  and  escaped,  by  a  miracle,  with  their 
lives.  They  were  hurled  to  the  ground  by  the  concussion. 
The  place  is  no  longer  tenable  as  a  poste  de  secoiirs  and 
so  is  to  be  abandoned.  While  we  are  not  afraid  to  go  there, 
we  are  glad  to  leave,  for  the  underground,  vaulted  tunnels 
of  that  fort  composed  a  chamber  of  horrors  which  we 
remember  in  our  dreams.  The  floors  were  mud,  the  ceiling 
slimy-dripping  stone;  and  the  light  was  scant,  while  the 
wounded  were  so  numerous  that  we  had  to  step  over 
their  prostrate  bodies;  and  to  add  to  it  all,  the  stench 
was  horrible. 

Cabaret  Rouge,  June  24 
To-day  this  picturesquely  named  place  became  our  regu- 
lar poste  de  secours.  There  is  a  diabolical  fitness  about  the 
name.  The  house,  which  is  halfway  up  the  slope  in  a  val- 

1  Alden  Davison,  of  New  York  City;  Yale,  '19;  joined  the  Field  Service 
in  February,  191 6,  serving  with  Section  Eight  until  September;  entered  the 
U.S.  Aviation  Service,  and  was  killed  in  training  December  26,  191 7. 

2  Randolph  Rogers,  of  Grand  Rapids,  Michigan;  served  with  Section 
Eight  of  the  Field  Service  from  April  to  September,  1916;  subsequently  en- 
listed in  the  U.S.  Infantry,  becoming  a  Sergeant;  he  was  killed  in  action  on 
the  Marne,  July  15,  1918. 

3  Douglas  MacMonagle,  previously  in  Section  Three;  killed  while  in 
French  Aviation,  September  24,  19 18,  near  Verdun  in  aerial  combat. 


450 


SECTION  EIGHT 


ley,  is  simply  surrounded  by  the  French  batteries,  while 
German  shells  are  continually  bursting  in  the  fields 
around.  Red  signal  rockets  illumine  the  sky.  Down  from 
the  trenches  come  the  stretcher-bearers  with  their  crim- 
son burdens.  Red  Cabaret,  red  rockets,  red  fire,  red 
blood! 

June  26 

The  Germans  keep  shelling  the  road.  On  the  night  of  the 
23d,  Charlie  Faulkner,  volunteering  to  drive  a  car,  had 
the  metal  part  of  the  searchlight  smashed  by  a  shell.  The 
next  night,  Keogh,  the  laughing,  brave-hearted  boy  we 
love  perhaps  most  of  all,  came  walking  back  with  his  arm 
streaming  blood,  and  last  night  I  was  nearly  finished  off 
by  a  gas  attack,  but  was  saved  by  Faulkner. 

Section  One  for  Neighbors 

June  28 
To-day  the  French  ambulance  section  was  replaced  by 
our  Section  One,  so  that  we  now  have  two  American 
sections,  parked  side  by  side  here,  with  forty  cars  doing 
the  work  that  we  originally  had  had  to  do  with  seventeen 
cars.  Yesterday,  Charlie  Faulkner  saved  a  French  soldier 
from  drowning  in  the  swift  current  of  the  Meuse  where  we 
often  go  to  swim.  He  went  in  and  got  him,  having  to  swim 
against  the  current  and  go  twice  to  the  bottom.  The 
Frenchmen  were  filled  with  gratitude  and  admiration. 
**We  can't  swim  like  Americans,"  was  one  of  their  re- 
peated comments.  Then  Faulkner  leaped  on  a  bareback 
horse,  galloped  across  the  marshes  to  Dugny  for  a  doctor 
and  an  ambulance,  and  soon  the  little  Ford  came  tearing 
along  in  best  three-reel-thriller  style  with  Faulkner  on 
the  seat.  We  all  began  laughing  and  wondered  if  he  had 
the  horse  inside. 

July  I 

The  chief  medical  officers  of  the  Division  tell  us  that  our 
little  cars  are  doing  great  work.  We  are  glad,  for  we  have 
been  doing  the  best  we  can,  and,  without  knowing  it,  we 
seem  to  have  established  some  new  records  in  this  sector. 

451 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Thus,  on  our  "best  day,"  June  22,  in  thirty-four  hours  we 
transported  555  wounded  from  Tavannes  and  Cabaret  to 
Dugny,  an  average  distance  per  round  trip  of  25  kilo- 
metres. The  work  was  done  by  19  cars,  the  total  19  mak- 
ing an  aggregate  distance  of  1339  kilometres  loaded,  and 
1359  kilometres  empty,  or  an  average  of  about  142  kilo- 
metres per  car.  Practically  all  the  work  was  done  under 
shell-fire.  Armour  made  the  best  individual  record,  total- 
ling four  trips  to  Tavannes  and  five  to  Cabaret,  carrying 
a  total  of  51  wounded. 

July  7 
Our  work  has  been  growing  lighter  so  that  we  were  able 
to  let  half  of  our  men  go  up  to  Paris  to  celebrate  "the 
glorious  Fourth."  When  they  came  back  we  had  a  pleas- 
ant surprise  for  them.  Section  Eight  had  left  Dugny  and 
had  gone  in  convoy  to  Ancerville,  a  lovely  village  fully 
eighty  kilometres  behind  the  lines,  out  of  sound  of  the 
guns. 

The  Glorious  Fourth  —  and  Fourteenth 

Ancerville,  July  15 
Yesterday  was  celebrated  the  French  national  fete.  We 
joined  heart  and  soul  with  our  friends  of  the  Division  in 
celebrating  it.  The  Section  Americaine  was  featured  on 
the  programme  as  the  '' grande  attracHofi,"  and  consisted 
of  mandolin  and  guitar  music  by  Armour  and  Jacobs, 
followed  by  a  boxing  bout  between  Jacobs  and  ]\Iac- 
Monagle,  and  another  bout  between  Buffum  and  Armour. 
The  applause  was  generous  and  sincere.  That  night  there 
was  a  torchlight  procession  through  the  village  in  which 
our  boys  carried  lanterns,  marching  and  singing,  side  by 
side,  and  arm  in  arm  with  the  poilus. 

Back  to  Cabaret  Rouge 

Dugny,  July  18 
Early  yesterday  morning  we  left  our  Division  to  go  back 
to  Dugny.  It  was  a  real  chagrin  for  us.  Early  as  it  was, 

452 


SECTION  EIGHT 


scores  of  our  personal  friends  in  the  Division  came  to  bid 
us  good-bye.  Our  work  is  to  be  the  same  as  before.  In  fact 
we  had  n't  been  here  five  minutes  when  an  orderly  came 
with  his  little  square  scrap  of  paper:  ''Two  cars  quick 
to  the  Cabaret  Rouge."  The  people  of  Dugny  remem- 
bered us  and  seemed  to  be  glad  to  see  us  again  —  espe- 
cially the  little  woman  who  still  makes  '' caje  chaud  d, 
toiite  heure.''  We  brought  her  a  dozen  glasses,  which  she 
needed,  and  some  shirts  from  Paris  for  her  little  boy. 

July  23 
The  day  after  our  arrival  there  was  consternation  in  the 
Section.  Pinard  was  missing.  He  came  on  Armour's  car 
from  Ancerville  to  Dugny,  and  had  been  seen  frolicking 
around  the  street.  But  on  the  evening  of  our  arrival  a  big 
German  shell  burst  near  us  and  Pinard  |was  seen  no  more. 
We  did  n't  seriously  believe  he  had  been  struck  by  the 
shell,  but  he  had  nevertheless  completely  disappeared. 
Armour  found  it  necessary  to  return  for  a  day  to  Ancer- 
ville, and  there,  exhausted  and  asleep  in  the  straw  of  the 
deserted  house  where  we  had  slept,  he  discovered  Pinard, 
lonely,  miserable,  lost.  He  brought  him  back  in  triumph 
and  there  was  joy  at  his  return. 

July  25 
The  troops  in  our  sector  are  now  taking  many  German 
prisoners,  and  we  are  all  avid  for  German  souvenirs,  and 
so  are  the  poilus.  Sometimes  the  prisoners  are  willing  to 
let  us  take  their  little  red-banded  vizorless  caps,  provided 
we  give  them  some  kind  of  head  covering  in  exchange. 
But  we  have  never  seen  an  American  or  Frenchman  either 
take  a  cap  from  a  German  without  asking  it  and  unless 
the  owner  was  willing. 

July  26 

A  QUEER  Story  came  to  us  a  couple  of  nights  ago  about  the 
German  wireless  message,  said  to  have  been  picked  up 
by  a  French  station  over  on  the  other  side  of  Verdun  near 

453 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Mort  Homme.  Rumor  said  the  message  was  from  the 
German  General  Staff,  announcing  that  an  American 
ambulance  unit,  working  the  Cabaret  Rouge  poste,  had 
been  seen  by  the  German  aviators,  and  that  instructions 
had  been  given  the  German  gunners  not  to  fire  on  Caba- 
ret. But  just  as  we  were  beginning  to  give  serious  credence 
to  the  tale,  word  came  that  fifteen  men  had  been  killed 
and  fifty  wounded  by  shells  within  a  few  paces  of  the 
poste;  and  a  few  hours  afterwards,  while  lasigi's  car  was 
standing  in  front  of  Cabaret,  a  German  ''^7''  landed 
within  five  paces  of  it,  luckily  doing  no  damage.  No  won- 
der we  are  now  laughing  at  our  own  credulity. 

July  27 
Though  the  work  here  as  a  whole  is  not  so  dangerous 
now  as  it  was  in  June,  some  of  the  men  have  had  rather 
narrow  escapes  since  we  returned.  For  instance,  a  piece 
of  shell  came  through  the  top  of  one  car  yesterday,  and 
Keogh  was  missed  less  than  two  feet  by  a  fragment  that 
struck  the  seat  beside  him. 

The  Real  Hero 

And  let  me  close  this  record  with  one  reflection.  The  real 
hero  of  Verdun  and  of  the  war  is  the  poilu,  or  infantry 
soldier,  of  the  first-line  trenches.  The  destiny  of  France 
is  in  his  keeping.  The  man  in  the  trenches  is  the  essential 
factor.  The  rest  of  us,  back  here  among  the  batteries  and 
observation  points  and  postes  de  secotirs,  are  engaged 
solely  in  the  work  of  backing  up  his  efforts.  Whether 
generals,  artillerymen,  stretcher-bearers,  or  ambulance 
drivers,  we  are  here  only  to  protect  and  serve  the  men  out 
yonder  —  preparing  the  way  before  him  with  shell  and 
shrapnel  when  he  advances,  and  transporting  him  back, 
covered  with  blood  and  mud  and  glory,  when  his  work  is 
done. 

William  B.  Seabrook  ^ 

^  Of  Atlanta,  Georgia;  Newberry  College;  spent  six  months  in  the  Field 
Service  during  the  year  19 16  with  Section  Eight. 


SAUCISSE  ABOVE  VERDUN 


II 

Shells  and  Gas" —  The  Roads  of  Verdun 

In  the  Hills  of  France,  June  23,  19 16 
They  have  given  us  a  very  Important  work  as  well  as  a 
dangerous  one  —  to  evacuate  the  wounded  about  one 
and  a  quarter  miles  from  the  first-line  trenches  in  this 
Verdun  sector,  and  since  we  have  been  here  —  about  a 
week  —  our  little  ambulances,  holding  five  w^ounded, 
have  carried  some  hundreds  of  men.  We  are  quartered  in 
Dugny,  about  four  miles  away  from  the  front,  which  the 
Germans  take  pleasure  in  shelling  twice  a  day.  \\^e  got 
here  a  week  ago,  or  Friday,  and  on  Saturday  morning  I 
made  my  first  trip,  on  a  French  machine,  to  our  poste 
de  secours.  The  first  part  of  the  drive  is  through  a  valley, 
where  there  is  a  beautiful  winding  river,  and  some  pretty 
old  towns.  Then  you  begin  an  ascent  for  about  two  miles 
on  a  road  which  is  lined  with  French  batteries  and  quite 
open  to  the  view  of  the  Germans,  who  have  a  large 
observ^ation  balloon  only  a  mile  or  two  away.  Conse- 
quently the  road  is  fired  over  all  the  time;  so  you  feel 
that  a  passing  shell  may  at  any  moment  fall  on  you. 
Just  this  morning,  about  four  o'clock,  three  shells  went 
over  my  machine  and  broke  in  a  field  near  by.  When  one 
reaches  the  top  of  the  ascent,  there  is  a  piece  of  road, 
very  rough,  and  covered  with  debris  of  all  kinds  —  dead 
horses,  old  carts  and  wheels,  guns,  and  confusion  every- 
where. This  road  leads  to  an  old  fort  where  our  wounded 
are,  and  on  this  road  the  German  fire  is  even  worse. 

Well,  this  first  morning,  just  before  we  arrived,  the 
Germans  began  a  bombardment  which  lasted  five  hours. 
The  shells  landed  all  around  us,  but  we  finally  got  in 
safely.  Before  this,  however,  we  discovered  a  small  tunnel 
large  enough  to  hold  three  of  our  cars,  and  here  I  waited 
five  hours,  without  any  breakfast,  hearing  the  roar  of  the 

455 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


shells  —  they  made  a  noise  like  a  loud,  prolonged  whistle 
—  and  then  listening  to  the  French  batteries  answer  with 
a  more  awful  roar,  because  nearer.  To  add  to  the  interest, 
two  or  three  gas-shells  exploded  near  us,  which  made  our 
eyes  water.  Luckily  we  had  our  gas-masks  with  us;  but 
we  had  got  the  gas  in  our  faces  before  we  could  put  them 
on.  Meanwhile,  the  wounded  were  being  carried  in  from 
the  first-line  trenches  by  the  stretcher-bearers,  who,  by 
the  way,  are  among  the  real  heroes  of  this  war.  Finally 
the  time  came  for  us  to  go  out  into  the  open  in  order  to 
let  the  other  cars  get  in  after  us.  We  went  along  slowly 
but  surely,  and  at  last  we  got  down  the  hill,  away  from 
all  the  noise  and  danger.  It  was  worth  while,  though,  for 
we  were  carrying  many  wounded  w4th  us.  For  a  week  we 
have  been  doing  this  work  and  are  still  alive ;  and  we  have 
to  our  credit  about  700  blesses.  The  French  are,  of  course, 
very  appreciative  of  our  labor.  I  may  add  that  I  am  well 
in  spite  of  the  excitement,  but  tired  to  death  of  the  hor- 
rors, the  smells,  and  the  sights  of  w^ar.  I  am  glad  to  have 
got  a  taste  of  real  war,  though,  so  as  to  know  what  it 
really  means. 

Malbone  H.  Birckhead  ^ 

^  Of  New  York  City;  Harvard  University;  an  Episcopal  clergyman; 
served  in  Section  Eight  from  April  to  October,  1916.  The  above  is  an 
extract  from  a  letter  written  to  Mr.  Birckhead's  mother. 


c^. 


Ill 

Thursday,  July  20 
This  morning  at  1.30  I  left  Dugny  and  went  up  to  Caba- 
ret, where  I  relieved,  with  Forbush,^  who  went  with  me, 
the  two  cars  which  were  there.  At  the  time  there  was  a 
very  heavy  French  attack  going  on,  so  our  run  up  was  one 
of  the  noisiest  that  I  ever  made.  All  along  the  road  the 
French  batteries  were  firing  tirs  de  barrage,  and  roaring 
right  in  our  ears.  The  roads  were  also  very  bad  with 
breaking  shells,  because,  naturally,  the  heavy  fire  of  the 
French  guns  called  forth  much  bombarding  by  the  Ger- 
mans. At  Cabaret  there  were  no  wounded,  and  I  just  had 
to  sit  around  until  8.30  A.M.,  when  I  was  relieved  by  two 
other  cars  from  our  Section.  During  the  first  few  hours  of 
my  wait,  I  lay  down  in  the  straw  on  the  floor  of  the  dug- 
out and  tried  to  get  some  sleep.  This,  however,  was  out 
of  the  question,  owing  to  the  terrific  noise.  At  about 
3  A.M.  I  got  up  and  just  hung  around.  The  day  was  just 
beginning  to  break,  and  it  was  a  wonderful  sight  to  see 
the  long  trains  of  artillery  passing  along  the  brow  of  the 
hill  directly  behind  Cabaret,  coming  in  from  their  night's 
shift.  All  around  Cabaret  were  situated  French  "75" 
batteries.  I  went  down  into  the  dugout  connected  with 
the  nearest  one  of  these,  and  watched  it  work.  It  was  really 
a  foolish  thing  to  do,  for  the  batteries  were  being  bom- 
barded. However,  I  thought  it  too  good  a  chance  to  miss, 
and  I  am  now  very  glad  that  I  did  it.  The  Lieutenant  in 
charge  of  the  battery  gave  me  little  plugs  to  put  in  my 
ears,  and  mica  goggles  to  keep  the  powder  out  of  my  eyes. 
He  also  told  me  that  each  time  that  a  gun  was  fired  to 
rise  up  on  my  toes.  This  stops  a  great  deal  of  the  shock  to 
your  ear-drums.  At  about  5  a.m.  the  sun  was  bright  enough 
to  enable  me  to  take  pictures.  I  got  some  good  views  of 

^  Frederic  Moore  Forbush,  of  Detroit,  Michigan;  served  with  Section 
Eight  of  the  Field  Service  from  April  26  to  October  24,  1916;  subsequently 
m  the  U.S.  Navy;  died  of  pneumonia  October  6,  1918. 

457 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


the  guns  in  action.  The  Lieutenant  in  command  did  every- 
thing he  could  to  enable  me  to  get  the  best  possible  posi- 
tions and  exposures. 

Friday,  July  21 
I  SLEPT  quite  late  and  got  up  just  in  time  for  lunch.  Dur- 
ing the  afternoon  worked  on  my  car.  At  8  p.m.  our  Divi- 
sion went  again  on  call  and  '*Doc"  Armour  and  I  immedi- 
ately left  for  Cabaret,  to  relieve  the  two  cars  of  the  other 
division  and  to  stay  until  2  a.m.  to-morrow  morning.  On 
our  run  up,  there  was  not  very  much  firing  done  by 
either  side,  and  it  was  not  until  ii  p.m.  that  the  action 
began.  At  this  hour  the  Germans  launched  a  very  heavy 
attack  on  all  positions  along  the  line  of  our  sector.  The 
attack  lasted  for  an  hour  and  was  immediately  followed 
by  the  French  counter-attack,  in  which  they  regained  all 
the  ground  that  they  had  lost.  This  French  attack,  of 
course,  made  things  very  uncomfortable  for  Doc  and  me, 
who  had  to  stay  in  the  dugout  behind  Cabaret.  Cabaret 
itself  simply  rocked  with  the  vibration  and  concussion  of 
the  huge  guns  which  were  firing  all  around  it.  The  whole 
country,  as  far  as  we  could  see,  was  a  mass  of  flashes  from 
the  French  light  and  heavy  artillery.  The  terrific  noise 
was  mingled  with  the  crashing  of  the  German  shells, 
which  kept  continually  breaking  on  the  hill  just  behind 
Cabaret.  Many  times  they  broke  so  close  that  our  dug- 
out was  sprinkled  with  eclats  and  pieces  of  stone.  At  about 
midnight  there  were  four  men  carried  in  from  one  of  the 
near-by  batteries  in  a  horrible  condition.  A  German 
gun  had  found  the  range  of  this  battery,  and  before  it 
could  be  moved  had  killed  most  of  the  gun  crew  and 
wounded  nearly  all  the  rest.  The  doctor  in  Cabaret  (a 
surgeon)  dressed  their  wounds  there.  It  looked  just  like 
the  pictures  you  see  in  books  of  a  doctor  fixing  up  the 
wounded  in  a  little  dugout.  This  doctor  did  all  the  dress- 
ing on  his  knees  because  it  was  not  possible  to  stand  up 
owing  to  the  lowness  of  the  roof.  He  had  on  his  helmet, 
with  his  gas-mask  fastened  at  his  side.  During  all  the 

458 


SECTION  EIGHT 


dressings  the  French  batteries  directly  outside  the  door 
and  all  around  the  surrounding  hills  kept  up  the  steady 
roar  of  a  tir  de  barrage. 

I  left  Cabaret  at  12.30  with  my  first  load,  and,  as  soon 
as  I  had  delivered  them  at  the  hospital,  returned,  because 
we  were  not  to  be  relieved  until  2  or  2.30  a.m.  On  the  trip 
back  and  forth  I  had  some  quite  narrow  squeaks.  Once  a 
shell  broke  right  in  the  road  about  twenty  yards  in  front 
of  me,  and  before  I  could  stop  I  ran  right  into  the  shell- 
hole,  but  did  n't  break  the  car  at  ail.  However,  it  gave  the 
blesses  a  terrible  shaking-up  and  they  all  roared  to  beat 
the  band !  A  small  piece  of  the  same  shell  chipped  one  of 
my  front  spokes.  At  2.15  a.m.  the  other  two  cars  arrived 
and  I  went  straight  back  to  Dugny. 

Monday,  July  24 
This  morning  at  2.30  a  call  came  in  for  two  cars  at 
** Berlin."  The  reason  that  we  call  this  poste  "Berlin"  is 
because  it  is  only  two  hundred  yards  away  from  the 
German  trenches.  It  is  a  very  dangerous  run  and  also 
a  very  interesting  one.  From  the  poste  (a  little  dugout) 
you  can  plainly  see  the  men  firing  their  rifles  from  the 
shell-holes  out  on  the  firing-line.  Bill  Seabrook  and  I 
were  the  first  two  on  call,  and  were  therefore  the  ones 
sent  out.  When  we  left  Dugny  we  could  easily  tell,  by  the 
exceptionally  heavy  firing,  that  there  was  an  attack  going 
on.  The  road  after  we  passed  Belleray  was  as  bright  as 
day  owing  to  the  great  number  of  batteries  firing  directly 
over  it  and  to  the  star-shells  with  which  the  sky  was 
thickly  dotted.  This  did  not  make  any  difference  to  us, 
until  after  we  paissed  the  hill  beyond  Cabaret.  In  fact,  it 
was  really  a  great  help.  When  we  passed  the  top  of  the 
hill,  however,  we  came  into  plain  sight  of  the  Germans, 
and  this  made  it  very  dangerous.  We  also  came  into  sight 
of  the  whole  attack,  which  happened  to  be  taking  place 
around  Fleury.  It  was  a  magnificent  sight  to  watch.  The 
whole  valley  was  filled  with  the  little  puffs  of  flame  from 
the  German  and  French  rifles.  We  had  to  run  down  to 

459 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


the  Rue  de  Moulainville  which  was  only  three  hundred 
yards  away  from  the  Hnes,  and  which  was  therefore  very 
nearly  in  rifle  range.  Our  blesses  were  all  ready,  waiting 
for  us  in  a  little  dugout  which  was  at  the  junction  of  the 
roads.  I  for  one  was  very  glad  that  they  were  ready,  be- 
cause this  was  my  idea  of  "nowhere  to  hang  out."  We 
got  our  cars  loaded  and  started  back.  Bill  Seabrook's  car, 
which  was  just  in  front  of  mine  coming  back,  was  struck 
by  a  number  of  eclats.  The  woodwork  on  the  back  of  his 
car  was  filled  with  holes,  and  one  of  the  blesses  whom  he 
was  carrying  was  hit  again.  He  himself  was  not  touched. 
We  arrived,  back  at  Dugny  again,  at  5.45  a.m. 

Wednesday,  July  26 
This  morning  at  i  .30  I  left  Dugny  for  Cabaret.  When  I 
arrived  there,  there  was  a  terrible  tir  de  barrage  going  on. 
The  noise  was  absolutely  deafening.  All  the  hills  around 
Cabaret  were  as  light  as  day  owing  to  the  flashes  of  all 
the  guns.  Their  fire  kept  up  steadily  until  nearly  three 
o'clock,  when  it  stopped  as  suddenly  as  it  had  begun. 
However,  this  was  by  no  means  the  end  of  the  noise.  All 
this  heavy  firing  enabled  the  Boches  to  locate  the  bat- 
teries, and  when  they  once  got  the  range  the  slaughter 
began.  For  an  hour  and  a  half  they  kept  pouring  enor- 
mous shells  into  all  the  hillsides.  We  spent  the  whole  day 
in  an  abri,  and  I  never  spent  such  an  hour  and  a  half  in 
all  my  life.  We  did  not  know  at  what  minute  a  shell  would 
hit  our  dugout  and  smash  it  to  pieces.  However,  none 
even  as  much  as  touched  it,  and  when  the  bombardment 
ceased  our  w^ork  began. 

Wounded  kept  pouring  into  Cabaret  from  all  sides. 
They,  of  course,  had  had  no  dressings,  and  therefore  the 
ones  who  were  badly  wounded  were  in  a  terrible  way. 
Many  of  these  poor  fellows  had  their  arms  and  legs  com- 
pletely shot  off.  As  quickly  as  they  were  dressed,  we  car- 
ried them  down  to  Dugny  and  then  returned  to  Cabaret 
again  for  another  load.  We  kept  running  back  and  forth 
steadily  until  eight  o'clock,  when  we  were  relieved  by 

460 


SECTION  EIGHT 


Armour  and  Sortwell.^  As  soon  as  I  arrived  at  Dugny  I 
tumbled  into  bed  and  slept  steadily  until  2  p.m. 

Monday,  August  7 
At  1.30  A.M.  I  was  pulled  out  of  bed  to  go  to  Cabaret. 
W^hen  I  left  Dugny  the  firing  was  very  heavy.  After  I  had 
passed  through  the  woods  outside  of  Verdun,  the  shells 
began  landing  all  around  the  road.  The  French  batteries 
were  roaring  and  the  place  was  certainly  noisy.  Just 
before  I  got  to  Cabaret,  I  was  held  up  by  a  block  of  con- 
voy wagons.  I  jumped  out  of  the  car  and  ran  on  ahead  to 
see  what  the  trouble  was.  When  I  arrived  at  the  cause  of 
the  hold-up  a  sight  met  my  eyes  that  I  will  not  forget  for 
some  time.  Lying  right  in  the  middle  of  the  road  was  a 
wagon  all  smashed  to  bits,  and  beside  it  four  men  sim- 
ply torn  to  pieces.  One  had  his  head  just  hanging  by  a 
shred,  while  another  had  his  two  legs  blown  off,  just  be- 
low his  waist.  The  other  two  were  just  scattered  all  over 
the  road.  I  helped  with  the  job  of  cleaning  away  the  wreck- 
age and  carrying  what  was  left  of  the  bodies  into  our 
poste  de  secours.  I  then  went  back  and  got  my  car,  and 
went  on  up  to  the  poste.  The  bombardment  of  the  roads 
kept  up  all  the  rest  of  the  night.  However,  I  made  nine 
trips  back  and  forth.  This  kept  me  going  until  11  A.M. 

It  is  now  almost  sure  that  we  have  to  leave  here  the 
day  after  to-morrow  for  a  poste  in  the  Les  Eparges  district. 

Tuesday,  August  8 
To-day  I  had  my  first  real  experience  with  mitrailleuse 
fire.  This  morning  at  about  eleven  o'clock  a  call  came  in 
for  one  car  up  at  an  advanced  poste,  to  which  we  had 
never  been  before.  Fred  Forbush  was  on  call,  but  Mason 
said  that  he  wanted  two  men  on  the  car  just  for  safety's 
sake,  so  I  went  along  with  him.  The  poste  was  situated 
fully   one   hundred   and   fifty   yards   in   front   of   Fort 

*  Edward  Carter  Sortwell,  of  Cambridge,  Massachusetts;  Harvard;  with 
the  Field  Service  from  April  26,  serving  in  Sections  Eight  and  Three;  killed 
in  Salonica  in  action,  November,  19 16. 

461 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Tavannes,  and  was  closer  to  the  lines  than  any  to  which 
we  have  ever  been  sent.  Until  we  got  up  to  Tavannes, 
things  went  along  all  right,  but  as  soon  as  we  passed  the 
fort  and  started  down  the  hill  in  front,  things  immedi- 
ately livened  up.  The  whole  side  of  the  hill  was  covered 
with  puffs  of  white  smoke,  caused  by  the  breaking  of 
German  shells.  We  got  down  to  our  poste  and  picked  up 
our  wounded.  Just  as  we  were  going  to  start,  all  the  men 
around  us  began  yelling  at  us  to  hurry  out  of  the  car  and 
get  into  a  dugout.  We  did  n't  have  any  idea  of  what  was 
happening  until  we  got  into  the  dugout  and  heard  the 
rapid-fire  guns  spattering.  We  could  follow  the  course  of 
their  curtain  fire  from  the  door  of  the  dugout.  It  extended 
for  very  nearly  a  mile.  From  where  we  were,  we  could  see 
it  coming  closer  and  closer  until  it  passed  right  over 
the  dugout,  and  for  about  five  hundred  yards  beyond.  It 
looked  as  if  a  slight  puff  of  wind  was  stirring  the  trees. 
The  steady  rain  of  bullets  shook  the  trees  and  completely 
wiped  out  all  the  small  bushes.  Of  course,  these  small 
bullets  could  n't  penetrate  our  dugouts,  but  when  we 
came  out  after  it  was  all  over,  we  found  that  one  of  our 
front  tires  had  been  punctured.  We  fixed  it  right  there 
and  then  came  back  to  Dugny  without  having  anything 
more  happen. 

Sunday,  Atigust  13 
This  was  a  "big  day"  for  our  Section.  To-night  the 
Medecin  Divisionnaire  (a  Colonel) ,  a  Lieutenant  from  our 
poste  de  secours,  Walker  (Chef  of  Section  2),  and  his 
Lieutenant,  all  came  over  to  our  ^^  Croix  de  Guerre  Din- 
ner." We  had  our  dining-room  out  in  a  big  field.  We 
backed  all  the  cars  in,  around  the  table.  The  dinner  itself 
was  a  big  success.  After  dinner  the  old  Medecin  Division- 
naire stood  up  and  made  a  very  nice  little  speech.  He  sur- 
prised us  all  by  decorating  MacMonagle  with  the  Croix 
de  Guerre.  His  citation  went  in  about  two  weeks  ago,  but 
we  had  no  idea  that  he  was  to  be  decorated  to-night. 
In  his  speech  the  Colonel  thanked  us  all  for  coming 

462 


ASSIS"    WAITING   AT  CABARET   ROUGE 


STRETCHER  CASES   COMIN(^   INTO   THE   "  POSTE "   AT 
CABARET,    NEAR  VERDUN 


SECTION  EIGHT 


over  here.  He  complimented  us  on  the  way  we  went 
through  our  big  rush  at  Verdun.  He  said  that  it  was  a 
wonderful  piece  of  work,  and  one  to  be  remembered  with 
pride  throughout  our  lifetime. 

Tuesday,  August  15 

This  morning  Section  Two  of  the  Field  Service,  which  is 
doing  evacuation  work  at  Petit  Monthairon  about  five 
miles  from  here,  brought  over  a  baseball  team.  As  there 
was  n't  much  work  for  us,  nine  of  us  went  down  and 
played  with  them.  We  beat  them  7  to  4. 

In  the  afternoon  I  had  to  take  a  lieutenant  to  Benoite- 
Vaux,  a  little  town  about  six  miles  from  here,  and  close 
to  the  lines.  All  the  roads  leading  up  to  it  were  heavily 
screened  because  they  were  in  plain  sight  of  the  Germans. 
They  were  also  being  shelled  when  we  were  coming  back 
over  them.  Many  shells  landed  very  close  to  my  car,  but 
none  close  enough  to  do  any  damage.  One  time  the  lieu- 
tenant and  I  counted  twenty-five  puffs  of  smoke,  caused 
by  breaking  shells,  in  a  radius  of  half  a  mile.  I  arrived 
back  at  Belle  Helene  at  about  five  o'clock  and  was  imme- 
diately sent  up  with  Armour  to  the  poste  at  Les  Eparges 
to  get  four  men  who  had  been  very  seriously  wounded. 

We  went  up  and  nothing  extraordinary  happened. 
However,  after  we  had  been  at  the  poste  for  several  min- 
utes waiting  for  our  men  to  be  prepared  to  leave,  the 
Germans  loosed  a  cloud  of  poison  gas.  We  put  on  our 
masks,  got  our  car  loaded,  and  started  back,  but  owing 
to  the  way  our  breath  smoked  up  our  goggles  we  could  n't 
drive.  W^e  therefore  stopped  on  the  road  and  waited  for 
the  gas  to  pass.  When  it  was  entirely  gone  we  went  on. 
Between  the  point  where  we  stopped  and  Belle  Helene  we 
picked  up  four  gas  victims,  who  had  forgotten  to  bring 
along  their  masks.  We  also  saw  three  lying  dead  beside 
the  road,  but  did  n't  stop,  because  there  was  nothing  that 
we  could  do. 

Tuesday,  August  29 

This  morning  I  was  called  out  at  three  to  bring  a  lieuten- 
ant of  the  Medical  Corps  up  to  the  various  batteries  in 

463 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


this  vicinity.  One  of  these  trips  is  always  most  interesting, 
because  it  is  just  a  tour  of  inspection  and  you  get  a  chance 
to  see  a  great  deal  more  than  you  do  when  you  go  to  get 
w^ounded.  We  went  to  all  the  heavy  artillery  batteries 
situated  on  the  hills  behind  Les  Eparges.  They  were  all 
firing  unceasingly  when  we  were  there,  because  it  is  al- 
most always  just  at  dawn  that  the  attacking  is  done,  and 
an  infantry  attack  is  necessarily  preceded  by  heavy  bom- 
barding from  the  heavy  guns  behind  the  lines. 

We  arrived  back  at  Belle  Helene  after  a  trip  which 
lasted  for  five  hours.  Mason  was  beginning  to  get  worried 
about  us,  and  was  just  going  to  start  out  in  the  staff  car 
to  look  for  us. 

At  about  eleven  o'clock  this  morning  I  answered  a 
regular  call  to  our  poste  de  secours.  These  calls  don't  often 
come  in  during  the  day,  but  a  huge  mine  had  exploded 
right  beside  the  poste  and  wounded  about  forty  men  and 
killed  fifteen.  If  it  had  gone  off  during  the  night  it  would 
have  wounded  some  of  our  fellows,  because  there  are 
always  two  or  more  cars  there,  whether  there  are  blesses 
or  not. 

This  afternoon  there  was  nothing  for  me  to  do,  so  I 
took  my  car  and  went  over  to  Section  Two's  quarters  and 
had  a  swim. 

September  8 
On  the  night  of  September  3  the  French  started  a  big 
offensive  which  lasted  until  late  last  night.  During  these 
five  days  I  have  had  in  all  eight  hours'  sleep.  Our  cars 
have  been  running  steadily  back  and  forth  to  the  various 
postes  de  secours.  We  carried  at  least  five  hundred  wounded 
every  night,  and  had  to  evacuate  the  same  number  of 
wounded  every  day. 

This  grand  offensive  extended  over  the  entire  Eparges 
front,  which  is  about  eight  miles  long.  The  roads  have 
been  simply  jammed  with  long,  heavy  convoys  of  ammu- 
nition and  food  wagons.  The  offensive  was  very  impor- 
tant, inasmuch  as  the  French  wanted  to  drive  the  Germans 

464 


SECTION  EIGHT 


out  of  the  portion  of  the  city  of  Les  Eparges  which  they 
occupied.  This  they  succeeded  in  doing,  but  only  at  the 
expense  of  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  men.  There  were 
three  extra  divisions  moved  up  here,  just  for  the  attack, 
and  in  each  regiment  there  were  twelve  thousand  men, 
and  picked  men  at  that;  that  is,  they  were  picked  men 
for  attacking.  One  regiment  was  of  the  Foreign  Legion, 
one  of  Senegals  (negroes),  and  one  of  zouaves,  or  colo- 
nials. Any  one  that  has  read  of,  or  that  knows  anything 
at  all  about  these  things,  will  be  fully  able  to  realize  what 
three  divisions  such  as  these  can  do.  From  the  very  start 
the  French  had  the  whip  hand.  This  was  shown  by  the 
hundreds  upon  hundreds  of  German  prisoners  taken 
every  day. 

The  work  was  very  hard,  as  well  as  very  dangerous. 
Roads  which  never  before  had  been  shelled  were  subject 
to  the  most  terrible  bombardment.  The  reason  for  this 
was  that  the  Germans  knew  very  well  that  all  the  roads 
were  sure  to  be  filled  with  troops  and  convoys,  so  they 
moved  over  a  great  deal  of  their  heavy  artillery  from 
Verdun  and  simply  showered  the  roads  with  high-explo- 
sive shells.  This,  in  one  way,  is  what  the  French  wanted, 
because,  when  they  saw  the  artillery  being  moved,  they 
immediately  started  another  attack  in  the  Verdun  sector 
and  retook  all  of  Fleury. 

Of  course  all  this  shelling  made  our  work  just  so  much 
more  difficult.  Many  of  our  cars  were  hit,  and  one  of  our 
men  got  a  piece  of  shell  casing  in  his  leg.  However,  it 
did  n't  amount  to  anything.  Instead  of  getting  some  of 
our  wounded  at  the  more  protected  postes,  as  we  had  been 
doing,  we  had  to  get  them  all  right  up  at  the  advanced 
paste.  You  see,  they  could  n't  waste  any  time  in  bringing 
the  wounded  back,  so  we  simply  had  to  go  and  get  them. 
Up  at  the  poste  we  could  plainly  hear  the  shouting  and 
yelling  of  the  men  fighting.  Of  course,  it  was  not  always 
continuous.  There  were  times,  however,  for  nearly  hours 
at  a  time,  when  things  were  as  quiet  as  the  grave.  It  was 
during  these  lapses  that  the  wounded  were  carried  back 

465 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


by  hand.  None  of  the  wounds  had  been  dressed  at  all, 
and  were  in  a  horrid  condition.  After  about  two  days  the 
walls  and  sides  and  even  roofs  of  our  ambulances  were 
covered  with  blood.  We  did  n't  have  any  time  to  clean 
them.  It  was  about  the  worst  four  days,  besides  the  ones 
we  put  in  at  Tavannes,  that  I  ever  spent.  We  did  n't  have 
Any  regular  time  for  eating.  There  was  hot  coffee  always 
ready  at  our  poste,  and  when  we  had  a  chance  we  would 
grab  a  cup  and  be  off  again.  Besides  this,  in  the  office 
there  were  always  little  bundles,  containing  a  cake  of 
chocolate  and  some  sandwiches,  which  we  would  take 
with  us  and  eat  on  the  way  up  to  the  poste. 

This  afternoon  the  General  of  the  Division  here  came 
around  to  our  camp  and  made  a  long  speech  congratulat- 
ing us  on  our  work.  He  said  that  it  was  a  piece  of  work 
which  we  might  pride  ourselves  on,  as  few  others  could 
do  it  as  well.  He  also  said  that  the  poste  at  Les  Eparges 
was  on  no  occasion  overcrowded  with  wounded.  This  in 
itself  meant  a  great  deal,  because  more  than  fifty  were 
carried  in  every  hour.  He  finished  up  by  thanking  us,  not 
only  for  himself,  but  also  for  the  men  in  his  Division. 

We  are  all  nearly  crazy  from  loss  of  sleep  and  the  roads 
are  in  terrible  condition  from  shelling. 

Sunday y  September  17 
These  past  four  days  have  been  very  quiet  in  comparison 
with  the  past  two  weeks  and  a  half.  There  has  been  very 
little  or  no  attacking  done  by  either  side,  although  there 
have  been  quite  a  number  of  wounded.  This  was  due  to 
the  fact  that  a  great  number  of  mines  were  exploded  by 
the  Germans. 

On  Friday  a  rumor  started  around  our  quarters  that 
we  were  to  move  within  the  next  two  or  three  days.  We 
did  n't  pay  much  attention  to  this,  and  were  therefore 
very  much  surprised  on  Saturday  when  an  order  came  in 
for  us  to  pack  up  all  our  things  and  be  ready  to  move  at 
four  o'clock  on  Sunday  morning  (this  morning). 

Therefore  at  five  o'clock  our  whole  Section  started  off 

466 


'  SECTION  EIGHT 


for  a  little  town  just  outside  of  Ligny  for  a  short  rest.  The 
entire  Division  moved  with  us.  After  this  rest  the  Divi- 
sion (the  1 8th)  will  very  likely  go  up  to  the  Somme  or 
down  to  the  Vosges  Mountains,  and  unless  we  change 
divisions  it  naturally  means  that  we  shall  go  along  with 
them.  Everybody  thinks  that  there  is  only  one  chance  in 
a  hundred  of  this  outfit  returning  to  Verdun,  because,  as 
they  have  been  in  the  Verdun  district  since  February 
without  a  single  real  rest,  they  surely  will  now  be  let  off. 
It  is  a  regiment  composed  entirely  of  old  classes,  and  is 
therefore  used  more  for  holding  trenches  than  for  taking 
them.  For  this  reason  the  majority  of  opinions  seem  to 
point  to  the  Vosges. 

Our  Section  is  fixed  up  very  well  here.  We  are  quar- 
tered in  the  classroom  of  the  village  school,  and  are  look- 
ing forward  to  four  or  five  days,  at  least,  with  nothing  at 
all  to  do  except  to  take  care  of  the  few  men  who  are  taken 
ill  during  this  repos.  This  usually  amounts  to  one  call  a 
day,  so  we  shall  have  plenty  of  time  to  make  up  for  the 
sleep  we  lost  during  the  past  three  weeks. 

Grenville  T.  Keogh  ^ 

*  Of  New  Rochelle,  New  York;  served  in  Sections  Eight  and  Three  in 
1916  and  1917;  subsequently  a  Sous-Lietilenant  in  French  Aviation,  on  duty 
in  the  Orient;  these  are  extracts  from  Mr.  Keogh's  diary. 


IV 
The  Famous  Convoy  that  Did  n't 

Crevecceur,  The  Somme,  December  4,  19 16 
Our  first  few  days  of  convoy  running  were  very  amusing. 
In  fact,  I  think  our  Section  must  now  be  one  of  the  best 
jokes  in  the  French  Army.  We  left  early  one  very  foggy 
morning,  with  our  thirty-odd  voitures  all  beautifully  lined 
up,  and  ready  for  a  long  spin  the  first  day;  but  we  had 
scarcely  turned  our  backs  on  the  little  village  before  the 
entire  convoy  was  lost  in  a  fog  and  headed  in  thirty  sepa- 
rate directions  —  all  going  like  mad  to  "catch  up." 
Mason,  our  Chef,  took  the  wrong  turn  in  the  middle  of 
the  town  and  went  up  a  terrific  hill,  while  two  cars  that 
tried  to  follow  him  broke  down  on  the  grade.  A  marching 
company  cut  the  rest  of  us  off  and  every  car  following  got 
a  different  road. 

Two  days  later,  when  the  majority  of  us  had  finally 
been  collected  at  a  small  town  several  hundred  kilometres 
distant,  we  found  a  nice  hotel  and  decided  to  eat  our 
Thanksgiving  dinner  there,  although  the  date  was  a  day 
too  early.  On  this  occasion,  in  lieu  of  post-prandial  ora- 
tory, I  produced  some  atrocious  doggerel ;  but,  after  a  good 
turkey  and  mince-pie  feast,  the  Section  was  in  a  mood  to 
laugh  at  anything,  and  some  of  the  unpolished  stuff  I 
wrote  seemed  to  appeal  to  the  fellows  —  a  fine  crowd  of 
rough,  good-hearted  boys,  whose  performances  have 
been  *'a  scream"  from  the  start  of  the  convoy.   .   .   . 

We  are  not  far  from  one  of  the  quaintest  and  oldest 
towns  in  France,  full  of  houses  and  monuments  dating 
from  1000  to  1500,  and  offering  endless  material  for  little 
sight-seeing  expeditions.  The  name  of  "American  Tour- 
ing Club,"  which  has  been  given  us,  is  not  half  the  joke 
that  it  would  appear  to  be.  It  is  really  astounding  the 
amount  of  leisure  and  comfort  that  the  French  military 
system  allows  officers  and  men  who  are  in  the  convois 

468 


SECTION  EIGHT 


aiitos.  Of  course,  when  they  are  in  active  operations  they 
are  in  a  perfect  hell  for  a  period,  but  when  they  come  out, 
it  is  possible  to  forget  now  and  then  that  France  is  at  war. 

We  are  quartered  temporarily  over  a  cafe.  I  have  a 
very  nice  room  with  a  big  desk  on  which  I  work  consider- 
ably making  cartoons  as  a  record  of  our  convoy  experi- 
ences. If  we  get  into  an  interesting  sector,  the  boys  want 
to  have  these  cartoons  and  these  experiences  put  into  a 
book  as  a  souvenir  of  the  Section.  They  would  only  have 
a  personal,  not  a  general  interest;  but  I  am  going  to  make 
the  most  of  my  last  two  months  over  here  and  try  to 
bring  together  the  material  for  a  permanent  keepsake  of 
the  time  I  have  spent  here. 

Furthermore,  I  don't  want  to  go  away  without  feeling 
that  I  have  done  a  little  for  France,  which  has  certainly 
given  me  innumerable  lessons  in  the  philosophy  of  living 
and  dying.  It  is  too  bad  that  every  American  cannot  see 
first-hand  what  this  indomitable  nation  is  now  going 
through,  and  with  what  a  fine  spirit  it  faces  crisis  after 
crisis.  France  is  entitled  to  the  reward  of  a  magnificent 
future,  and  every  American  who  has  been  here  will  be 
bitterly  disgusted  if  the  United  States  does  not  lend  all 
its  aid  to  assuring  such  a  future.  We  know  nothing  of  true 
Democracy.  The  innate  courtesy,  forbearance,  and  stead- 
fastness of  the  ''common  people"  here  is  something  that 
never  ceases  to  inspire  one,  day  after  day.  I  hope  I  can 
return  here  often  and  never  lose  touch  and  sympathy 
with  these  surroundings. 

Charles  Law  Watkins  ^ 


'  Of  Rye,  New  York;  Yale,  '08;  served  in  Sections  Three  and  Eight,  from 
August,  1916,  to  February,  1917;  entered  the  French  Artillery  School  at 
Fontainebleau,  and  subsequently  became  a  Sous-Lieutenant  in  the  French 
Army.    The  above  are  extracts  from  home  letters. 


V 

The  Somme  —  and  Cold  Weather 

January  lo,  1917 
\\'e  were  at  Crevecoeur  some  two  weeks  before  we  got 
out.  Finally,  about  the  middle  of  December,  after  all  the 
troops  had  gone,  we  got  our  orders  to  go  to  Mailly  Raine- 
val,  near  Moreuil.  We  stayed  there  four  or  five  days,  and 
were  beginning  to  think  we  had  been  side-tracked  and 
would  not  get  up  to  the  front  at  all,  when  we  got  our  or- 
ders in  the  middle  of  the  night  to  move  the  next  morning 
to  Proyart.  So  we  ploughed  up  there  through  the  mud. 

There  is  a  long,  straight  road  running  due  east  from 
Amiens  along  which  were  some  of  our  pastes,  and  Proyart 
is  only  a  mile  off  it.  We  landed  there  on  December  21, 
parked  our  cars  in  a  foot  of  mud,  and  with  great  diffi- 
culty found  an  old  barn  as  cantonment. 

On  the  226.  I  went  up  with  the  French  Lieutenant  to 
see  the  pastes.  We  went  out  along  that  straight  road 
through  Foucaucourt  toward  Estrees.  At  the  latter  town 
we  were  to  keep  one  car  and  another  at  Fay,  just  north  of 
it.  Then  at  a  point  called  Bois  de  Satyr,  in  a  little  valley 
behind  Estrees,  we  were  to  hold  three  cars  to  replace  the 
others  when  they  came  in  with  a  load. 

Foucaucourt  was  about  the  most  demolished  village  I 
had  ever  seen,  not  a  house  standing,  just  walls  and  ruins. 
The  street  was  one  sea  of  mud.  The  original  lines  used  to 
be  just  beyond  Foucaucourt,  and  we  could  see  the  old 
trenches,  pretty  well  broken  in  now,  and  the  fields 
ploughed  all  to  pieces  and  covered  with  shell-holes.  They 
looked  more  like  a  choppy  sea  than  fields.  Then  we  came 
to  a  little  bois  down  in  a  gully,  the  Bois  de  Satyr,  where 
were  old  abris  made  by  the  Germans  —  and  wonderfully 
well  made,  very  deep  and  nicely  boarded  in.  Then  we 
went  on  and  came  to  a  cross-roads.  We  asked  some  one 

470 


SECTION  EIGHT 


where  Estrees  was,  and  he  said  simply,  "This  is  Es- 
trees!"  There  was  no  sign  of  a  house  —  only  dugouts.  In 
fact,  of  Estrees,  that  had  been  a  thriving  village,  nothing 
remained  —  it  was  razed  to  the  ground.  And  Fay  was 
nearly  as  bad. 

Next  day  we  began  work,  replacing  two  French  sec- 
tions instead  of  one;  but  it  was  not  hard,  and  later  we 
took  over  a  third  section's  service  of  evacuating  back 
from  Proyart.  But  even  with  tripled  work  we  had  no 
great  difficulties.  We  worked  only  four  or  five  days,  fol- 
lowing to  Bayonvillers,  when  our  Division  was  moved 
back. 

A  couple  of  days  before  we  left  Proyart  the  Boches 
bombarded  the  place  with  an  eight-inch  marine  gun.  It 
was  quite  a  day.  We  had  gotten  off  three  cars  to  relieve 
the  night  shift  at  the  hospital  —  and  the  other  two  driv- 
ers were  having  a  time  cranking  their  cars  —  when, 
Bang!  right  across  the  street  came  a  huge  explosion. 
Rocks  began  to  fall  all  around.  I  did  not  know  whether 
it  was  an  avion  bomb  or  a  shell.  Some  one  cried,  "Gas," 
but  I  knew  it  was  not  that.  A  wounded  Frenchman  came 
tearing  into  our  quarters  hanging  onto  his  arm,  and  Wat- 
kins  took  him  up  to  the  hospital.  We  did  not  know  what 
it  was,  but  soon  heard  another  one  down  in  the  village.  I 
went  across  the  street  to  see  what  had  happened.  The 
shell  had  dropped  through  a  bam  and  pretty  well  wrecked 
it,  killing  a  man  and  a  horse,  and  wounding  other  horses. 
It  had  dug  a  hole  six  or  eight  feet  deep  in  the  ground  — 
and  down  in  it  stood  a  couple  of  horses  shivering. 

I  had  just  come  back  into  our  court,  when,  Bang! 
again,  right  behind  me.  I  knew  it  was  awfully  close, 
much  closer  than  the  last  one,  and,  knowing  that  rocks 
would  begin  to  fall,  ducked  under  d'Estes*  car.  Usually 
one  ducks,  or  dodges  into  an  ahri  from  common  sense, 
but  this  time  I  was  carried  under  the  car  without  con- 
scious effort  on  my  part.  I  know  now  I  was  blown  down 
onto  my  hands  and  knees,  because  my  first  recollection 
was  exerting  every  effort  to  crawl  under  the  nearest  car. 

471 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


I  got  up,  and  saw  several  fellows  appear  from  behind  the 
radiator  of  the  car,  among  them  Meadowcroft,  with  a 
very  white  face  and  a  gash  on  his  head.  He  was  a  little 
shaky,  but  said  he  was  O.K.,  and  I  saw  it  was  only  a  cut, 
though  bleeding  a  little. 

It  is  hard  to  tell  the  sequence  of  events,  but  about  the 
same  time  that  I  saw  Meadowcroft  I  looked  around  and 
saw  a  great  hole  in  the  middle  of  our  yard,  and  two  cars 
that  had  been  standing  there  had  disappeared.  Breed 
told  me  afterwards  that  I  said,  ''My  God!  I  did  n't  know 
it  was  so  close."  I  don't  know  just  what  I  did  then,  but 
Tower  was  hollering  about  ahris,  and  we  started  down 
into  the  cave,  though  it  would  not  stop  a  shell.  Some  one 
said  there  was  a  deeper  one  out  back  in  our  garden  and  a 
lot  of  us  ran  out  there  to  find  it;  but  there  was  nothing, 
so  I  came  back  to  the  cave.  My  last  impression  as  I  turned 
back  was  of  half  a  dozen  of  our  fellows  climbing  the 
eight-foot  garden  wall  with  the  greatest  ease  and  agility, 
and  "Booze,"  our  dog,  yelping  after  them. 

Several  more  shells  fell  in  town  —  about  eighteen  in 
all  —  and  fourteen  Frenchmen  were  killed.  They  say  it 
was  the  first  bombardment  of  Proyart  in  five  months. 

In  our  courtyard  four  cars  had  been  lined  up  on  each 
side,  and  the  shell,  landing  between  two  cars,  blew  one 
t^venty-five  feet  away  against  the  wall,  and  the  other 
fifteen  feet  in  the  opposite  direction.  The  bodies  of  both 
cars  had  completely  disappeared  and  the  chassis  were  all 
twisted  up.  One  other  car  was  tipped  up  at  an  angle  of 
forty-five  degrees  against  the  wall  with  a  bent  wheel  and 
a  window  blown  off.  A  fourth  car  was  lifted  sideways  five 
feet,  its  body  all  broken  in,  and  a  wheel  smashed.  Later 
half  of  Breed's  rear  axle  was  found  two  hundred  and  fifty 
yards  away  behind  the  chateau,  and  other  parts  were 
scattered  about. 

I  was  only  eight  or  ten  feet  from  the  shell  when  it 
dropped;  my  reflex  action  was  so  prompt  that  I  don't 
know  whether  it  was  the  explosion  or  my  muscles  that 
propelled  me  under  the  car  so  quickly.  My  ears  sang  for 

472 


SECTION  EIGHT 


some  time.  Why  I  was  n't  blown  to  atoms  I  don't  know. 
The  ground  was  soft,  of  course,  and  the  shell  sank  deep 
and  was  somewhat  muffled,  but  all  the  same  I  consider  it 
a  miraculous  escape. 

Sainte-Menehould,  February  i,  19 17 
December  30  we  moved  a  short  distance  from  Proyart 
and  did  the  old  work  of  looking  after  the  malades  of  the 
Division.  This  lasted  about  four  days,  after  which  we  had 
four  days  of  travel  —  going  each  day  only  thirty  or  forty 
kilometres.  We  could  have  done  the  whole  distance  in  one 
day,  but  had  to  obey  orders.  It  was  a  nuisance.  Finally, 
after  stops  of  some  days  in  a  couple  of  places,  we  made 
a  long  run  of  three  days,  beginning  January  22,  into  the 
Sainte-Menehould  sector.  The  day  of  our  start  it  got  very 
cold,  and  has  been  ever  since,  ten  to  twenty-five  degrees 
Fahrenheit  all  the  time.  We  have  our  troubles  with  cars 
freezing  up  and  have  already  ruined  one  motor  that  froze 
up  solid. 

February  2,  1917 
Wf  live  in  a  sort  of  house  and  barn  combined.  The  car- 
riage-room is  our  dining-hall.  Only  one  chamber  we  heat 
with  a  stove.  All  the  sleeping-rooms  are  frigid,  the  dining- 
place  dead  cold,  and  everything  is  frozen  solid  all  the 
time.  Even  my  ink-bottle  down  in  the  bottom  of  my 
trunk  froze  and  had  to  be  thawed  out  on  the  stove.  My 
toothbrush,  sponge,  and  nailbrush  are  always  frozen 
stiff,  and  one  has  to  wash,  if  one  must,  in  water  with  ice 
floating  in  it.  They  say  it  is  the  coldest  spell  they  have 
had  in  France  for  fifteen  years. 

Glorieiix,  March  18,  1917 
In  our  Sainte-Menehould  sector  the  fellows  had  nice  little 
ahris  to  live  in  up  at  the  posies,  dug  into  the  back  side  of 
the  hill,  where  they  had  a  fire  and  kept  warm.  They 
were,  in  fact,  much  more  comfortable  than  we  were  back 
in  town,  with  a  heatless  barn  for  eating-place,  heatless 
rooms  and  loft  to  sleep  in,  and  a  room  with  one  lone  stove 
for  a  sitting-room !  And  we  had  continuous  cold  weather. 

473 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


I  don't  think  the  thermometer  ever  rose  above  freezing 
point  while  we  were  there,  but  ranged  from  zero  to  about 
twenty- five  degrees.  Our  cars  would  freeze  up  in  a  jiffy 
if  we  were  not  very  careful,  and  we  always  ran  the  motors 
in  the  morning  before  putting  any  water  in  the  radiators, 
otherwise  the  water  froze  solid  before  the  car  was  even 
cranked. 

Shortly  after  this  we  moved  over  to  the  next  army  and 
were  attached  to  a  new  Division,  then  en  repos.  We  made 
a  cold  convoy  run  to  Erize-la-Petite,  where  we  stayed 
one  night  last  June.  We  got  as  cantonment  the  same  barn 
we  had  before,  but  whereas  then  we  were  much  pleased 
with  it  as  airy  quarters  this  winter  it  was  terrific.  It  was 
draughty  and  cold,  and  the  weather  was  as  cold  as  ever, 
never  above  freezing.  It  was  something  fearful,  as  we  had 
no  place  we  could  even  put  up  a  stove,  and  no  place  to  go 
to  get  warm  —  except  the  cuisine  roulante,  which  at  best 
could  hold  only  three  men  at  a  time.  The  village  was 
crowded  with  1300  troops,  whereas  it  is  figured  to  hold 
only  800,  and  half  the  village  was  burned  down  at  the 
beginning  of  the  war.  I  slept  in  the  barn  four  nights  and 
nearly  froze;  slept  in  my  clothes  with  a  sweater  around 
my  neck.  My  toes  were  numb  when  I  went  to  bed  and 
did  not  get  thoroughly  thawed  out  by  morning,  with  two 
pairs  of  socks  on. 

Everything  froze  up.  One  fellow  had  a  flask  of  brandy 
which  solidified.  It  broke  the  bottle  and  the  chap  had  a 
great  hunk  of  frozen  brandy.  He  would  break  off  chunks 
and  treat  every  one  to  cognac  glace. 

We  moved  up  here  into  the  caserne  on  March  5,  in  the 
snow.  Our  work  is  sufficient  to  keep  us  more  than  occu- 
pied, and,  thank  Heaven,  we  have  comfortable  barracks 
and  plenty  of  stoves ! 

Austin  B.  Mason  ^ 

*  Of  Boston,  Massachusetts;  Harvard,  *o8;  Massachusetts  Institute  of 
Technology,  'lo;  joined  the  Field  Service  March  4,  1916,  serving  with  Sec- 
tion Four  and  as  Chef  oi  Section  Eight;  left  in  April,  1917,  to  enter  Aviation, 
where  he  became  a  First  Lieutenant,  U.S.  Signal  Corps.  These  are  clippings 
from  home  letters. 


immmmwm^^mMmmmmimiBmmwMLmm^^ 


2     c 


O    Z 


VI 
Last  Months  of  the  Field  Service 

Glorienx,  May  3,  191 7 
Cadman,  Gwynn,  Eckstein,  and  I  (the  California-Belgium 
quartet)  arrived  here  day  before  yesterday  and  were  at 
once  initiated  Into  Section  Eight.  All  of  us  were  much  im- 
pressed by  our  proximity  to  Verdun,  and  by  the  war- 
scarred,  veteran  tradition  which  pervaded  the  atmosphere 
of  the  little  amhulancier  group. 

Glorieux  is  three  kilometres  from  Verdun.  We  send  six 
cars  there  every  evening.  They  wait  at  Maison  Nathan 
for  calls  to  go  to  the  front  or  to  the  hospitals  in  the  rear. 
Our  front  postes  are  at  Bras  and  Montgrignon,  and  the 
hospitals  to  which  we  evacuate  are  at  Dugny,  Vadelain- 
court,  Fontaine  Ronton,  and  Souhesme. 

The  first  trip  I  made  was  to  Bras,  about  three  kilo- 
metres from  the  German  lines.  The  road  Is  screened,  but 
w^e  went  up  before  dark  and  raised  a  good  deal  of  dust. 
We  had  just  put  the  Ford  in  a  shed  near  the  poste  when 
shells  began  to  whistle  over  and  burst  a  hundred  yards  or 
so  behind  us.  Paden  and  I  watched  them  calmly  enough, 
until  a  poilu  ran  in  and  called  for  brancardiers,  saying 
that  a  sergeant  had  just  been  killed  and  several  soldiers 
wounded  when  one  of  the  above-mentioned  shells  broke 
in  the  room  in  which  they  were  sitting.  They  took  a 
stretcher  out  and  brought  the  dead  man  in  —  his  head 
had  been  smashed.  The  incident  made  a  great  impression 
on  me.  But  Paden  did  not  seem  to  think  much  about  it. 
The  truth  is,  as  I  soon  found  out,  the  Section  considers 
this  a  rest  sector,  and  Is  impatient  to  be  moving  out  and 
into  something  interesting. 

Ferme  de  Piemont,  May  15 
On  May  12  we  were  succeeded  at  Glorieux  by  Section 
Eighteen,  and  convoyed  past  the  Argonne  into  the  Cham- 

475 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


pagne  to  our  present  headquarters.  "Doc"  Dodge  has 
gone  to  Paris  and  Steve  ]\ lunger  is  now  our  Chef. 

Here  we  have  three  front  postes  and  three  back,  or 
evacution,  postes.  The  advanced  postes  are  at  Bois  Carre, 
Ferme  des  Wacques  (which  is  on  the  position  of  the  front- 
line trenches  of  September,  19 15),  and  Pont  Suippes.  The 
latter  is  about  three  kilometres  from  the  front.  One  car 
goes  there  and  another  stays  at  Jonchery.  When  the  car 
comes  down  from  Pont  Suippes  the  car  from  Jonchery 
replaces  it.  Our  back  postes  are  at  Ambulance  2/60  at 
Suippes,  from  which  we  evacuate  to  the  Suippes  hospitals, 
to  Nantivet,  to  Bussy,  to  Cuperly  and  Chalons. 

We  are  beginning  to  realize  that  our  change  of  sectors 
was  not  for  the  better.  It  is  even  quieter  in  the  Cham- 
pagne than  it  was  at  Verdun.  All  we  can  do  is  to  sit  about 
and  listen  to  ''Ken"  Austin,  ''Steve"  Munger,  and  "Ap" 
Miles  tell  of  the  glory  that  used  to  be  Section  Eight's,  and 
to  speculate  on  the  great  things  that  we  shall  do  if  we  are 
ever  given  a  chance.  I  rather  think  that  the  powers  that 
be  have  decided  Section  Eight  has  enough  citations  and 
that  this  summer  should  be  one  of  repos  for  us. 

Details  of  the  Daily  Round 

May  27 
I  WENT  to  G.B.D.  Headquarters  yesterday,  resigning  my- 
self to  a  day  en  reserve,  meaning  a  day  of  doing  nothing. 
When  Sewall  and  I  arrived,  Blake  and  Burton,  whom  we 
were  to  replace,  told  us  that  four  or  five  gentle  obus  had 
dropped  into  camp  during  the  evening.  The  first  ones 
landed  quite  a  way  from  the  cars,  and  Blake,  who  was 
sitting  in  his  voiture,  had  time  to  duck  into  an  abri.  The 
next  one  landed  in  the  road  and  the  eclat  knocked  a  hole 
in  Burton's  radiator,  and  splintered  the  top  of  Blake's 
car. 

The  Medecin  Chef  said  that  that  was  enough  for  him 
and  he  moved  his  quarters  to  the  Ferme  de  Picmont, 
among  a  cluster  of  trees,  back  of  Suippes,  just  off  the 
main  road  to  Chalons. 

476 


SECTION  EIGHT 


May  30 
This  afternoon's  communique  will  probably  read,  "Artil- 
lery activity  on  the  Champagne  front."  The  Germans 
found  a  battery  of  French  "150's"  near  Saint-Hilaire 
last  night.  They  destroyed  all  four  guns  and  broke  up  the 
abris  with  penetration  shells;  then  they  completed  the 
job  with  gas-shells.  Most  of  the  artillerymen  were  killed, 
but  a  call  came  in  for  three  ambulances,  and  Austin, 
Lambert,  and  Boardman  answered  it.  Only  one  blesse 
was  still  alive  when  they  arrived. 

June  5 
Blake  arrived  back  from  permission  yesterday,  bringing 
a  large  strawberry  shortcake.  We  had  been  talking  of 
such  a  delicacy  for  the  past  two  weeks,  and  to  have  it 
appear  so  suddenly  was  too  good. 

The  Boches  located  a  French  battery  near  the  Ferme 
des  Wacques  last  night.  Burton  brought  one  of  the  vic- 
tims down.  The  poor  fellow  had  both  legs  shot  off,  and 
died  in  the  ambulance. 

*' Booze,"  the  Section  dog,  was  hit  by  a  camion  on  the 
Chalons  road  yesterday.  After  dinner  Austin,  Hall,  Sew- 
all,  Lieutenant  Bollaert,^  Pohlman,  and  I  went  up  and 
buried  him. 

Pont  Suippes,  June  9 
The  wagon  des  morts  has  just  come  up  the  road  and  is 
waiting  for  dark,  so  that  it  can  continue  up  to  La  Rose. 
It  comes  every  night  about  this  time,  goes  up  to  get  the 
dead,  and  takes  them  down  to  Jonchery,  where  the  grave- 
diggers  bury  them  in  the  divisional  cemetery.  An  average 
of  four  or  five  are  taken  down  every  night. 

June  14 
There  was  a  successful  French  coup  de  main  yesterday 
morning  in  the  sector  on  our  right.  I  could  see  the  artillery 

1  Lieutenant  Bollaert,  the  French  officer  of  Section  Eight ,  was  killed  by  a 
shell  at  a  dressing-station  in  the  region  of  Montdidier  on  August  11,  1918. 

477 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


preparation  from  Jonchery.  It  sounded  like  a  regular  bat- 
tle, but  only  seven  Germans  were  taken,  and  no  French 
were  killed  or  wounded. 

June  17 
Bill  Gwynn's  car  was  almost  converted  into  kindling 
wood  yesterday,  but  luckily  Bill  was  not  in  it  when  the 
shell  landed.  The  same  shell  hit  a  general's  chauffeur  who 
was  standing  near.  Bill  rushed  out  and  brought  the  man 
in,  and  then  went  out  and  found  that  though  the  body  of 
the  ambulance  had  been  knocked  out,  the  engine  would 
still  run  as  well  as  ever.  So  he  took  the  wounded  chauffeur 
down  to  Suippes. 

Ferme  des  Wacques,  June  21 
I  HAVE  just  seen  my  first  dead  German.  A  hrancardier 
came  in  a  few  minutes  ago  and  said  that  a  Boche  had  been 
killed  with  a  hand-grenade  near  one  of  the  petites  pastes. 
We  went  down  the  road  to  see  him.  He  was  a  young  fellow, 
with  a  light  mustache.  The  hrancardiers  stopped  laugh- 
ing and  looked  at  him.  One  said,  "He  is  very  young**; 
another,  "That  is  what  is  happening  to  all  the  young 
men";  "And  the  old  ones  too,  and  it  is  not  over  yet," 
said  a  third. 

A  lively  bombardment  in  the  direction  of  Mont  Cor- 
nillet  started  about  an  hour  ago  and  is  still  going  strong. 
It  sounds  as  though  one  side  had  attacked  and  the  other 
were  now  getting  ready  a  counter-attack.  I  can  see  the 
star-shells  over  the  trenches  and  occasional  gun  flashes. 

July  II 
We  were  replaced  at  Ferme  de  Piemont  by  Section  Twelve 
and  are  now  at  St.  Martin-sur-le-Pre,  encamped  in  a 
barnyard.  Our  Division  is  en  repos. 

Most  of  us  celebrated  the  4th  of  July  in  Paris  (thanks 
to  a  forty-eight-hour  permission)  and  saw  a  contingent 
of  the  American  First  Division,  which  had  just  landed 
at  Saint-Nazaire,  march  down  the  Boulevards.  It  was  a 
great  inspiration,  both  for  us  and  for  the  French. 

478 


SECTION  EIGHT 


Ville-Sur-Terre,  July  i8 
We  left  Saint- Martin  July  13  and  convoyed  here,  pass- 
ing through  very  beautiful  country  on  the  way.  Our  Divi- 
sion is  completely  en  repos.  We  are  ninety  kilometres 
from  the  nearest  point  on  the  Saint- Mihiel  front. 

This  is  a  wonderful  place  for  the  Division  to  rest  in. 
The  land  is  rolling  and  green  and  highly  cultivated,  ex- 
cept for  occasional  woods.  We  are  on  the  southern  edge 
of  the  Champagne,  near  where  Bungundy  begins. 

There  is  very  little  to  do.  Every  day  two  cars  go  out  to 
visit  all  the  villages  where  the  Division  is  billeted.  If 
there  are  any  sick  we  carry  them  to  the  hospital  at  Bar- 
sur-Aube. 

Anticipated  Action  and  a  Disappointment 

Camp  Dilleman 
.  {near  Les  Petites  Loges  in  the  Champagne) 
August  6 

We  arrived  Saturday  and  relieved  the  English  section 
which  was  on  duty  here.  At  last  it  looks  as  if  we  were  in 
for  some  action.  We  are  serving  the  Moronvilliers  Massifs 
Sector,  composed  of  Monts  Cornillet,  Blanc,  and  Haut. 
Since  April,  when  the  crests  of  the  heights  were  taken  by 
the  French,  this  has  been  one  of  the  liveliest  sectors  on  the 
Western  Front.  The  position  on  the  hills  is  a  command- 
ing one  for  either  side.  The  hills  rise  almost  directly  from 
the  plain  and  offer  excellent  observation  pastes  for  about 
twenty  kilometres.  The  last  fight  here  was  about  three 
weeks  ago.  The  division  which  we  replaced  took  the  first 
line  of  German  trenches.  The  Germans  recovered  them 
the  next  night;  the  French  retook  them  the  next,  and 
after  dark  the  following  day  kept  such  a  heavy  barrage  on 
the  German  lines  that  the  Boches  could  not  get  out  to 
attack.  The  French  division  lost  about  1600  in  the  two 
weeks  that  it  was  here. 

Our  front  posies  are  at  Prosnes  and  L' Esplanade.  We 
do  not  keep  cars  continually  at  the  latter,  but  two  cars 
are  always  at  Prosnes.  We  take  the  blesses  from  there  to 

479 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


La  Plaine,  where  they  are  numbered  and  examined,  and 
then  sent  on. 

August  7 

We  have  been  here  three  days,  and  now,  just  as  an  inter- 
esting time  seems  to  loom  up  ahead  of  us,  we  are  leaving 
for  what  I  know  is  a  quiet  sector.  We  are  swapping  places, 
and  divisions,  with  Section  Thirteen.  We  are  going  to 
Sainte-Menehould  this  afternoon. 

A  Repos  Sector 

August  9 
Arrived  at  Sainte-Menehould  Tuesday  afternoon.  We 
have  fairly  good  quarters  in  an  alley  and  a  couple  of  barns 
and  a  schoolhouse,  right  in  the  middle  of  the  town.  It  is  a 
prosperous  little  city,  and  we  will  be  able  to  get  anything 
we  w^ant,  even  baths. 

Our  pastes  are  a  long  way  from  Sainte-Menehould,  but 
near  the  lines.  Because  of  the  many  hills  and  the  thick 
woods  fighting  on  a  large  scale  is  very  difficult  in  this 
sector,  and  both  sides  have  settled  down  as  if  they  in- 
tend to  stay  where  they  are  for  the  duration  of  the  war. 
Though  in  some  places  the  trenches  are  but  fifty  feet 
apart,  concrete  dugouts,  with  electric  lights,  have  been 
built.  The  roads  run  up  to  within  less  than  a  kilometre  of 
the  lines. 

This  is  a  repos  sector.  The  French  division  now  here 
(the  169th)  was  in  the  first  attack  at  Mont  Cornillet.  In 
the  German  trenches  is  a  part  of  the  Prussian  Guard, 
which  was  also  at  Cornillet. 

Besides  this  poste  (Saint-Thomas)  our  only  other  one  is 
at  La  Narazee,  in  one  of  the  ravines  to  the  right  of  here. 
We  have  one  car  at  each  of  these  pastes  and  three  at  the 
triage  to  which  we  evacuate.  But  the  work  is  very  light. 

Harry  L.  Dunn  ^ 


*  Of  Santa  Barbara,  California;  University  of  California;  in  Section 
Eight  from  April  to  October,  19 17;  subsequently  an  officer  in  the  U.S. 
Field  Artillery;  these  are  extracts  from  an  unpublished  diary. 


VII 

Summary  of  the  Section's  History  under  the 
United  States  Army 

After  it  was  enlisted  in  the  United  States  Army,  Section 
Eight,  now  628,  remained  in  the  Argonne,  with  front-Hne  pastes 
at  La  Harazee,  Saint-Thomas,  and  Le  Four  de  Paris  until  Feb- 
ruary 28,  191 8,  having  during  this  time  very  little  w^ork. 

From  February  28  until  March  28,  it  was  en  repos  at  Saint- 
Ouen,  Corbeil,  and  Herpont,  small  towns  in  the  vicinity  of 
Vitry-le-Frangois.  From  April  2  until  June  9,  it  was  in  the  Oise 
and  Somme  sectors  in  Picardy.  It  was  cantoned  at  Coivrel,  a 
small  town  south  of  Montdidier,  and  had  postes  at  Dompierre, 
Domfront,  Godenvillers,  and  Le  Ployron.  It  sustained  a  gas 
attack  April  17  and  18,  for  which  the  Section  was  cited  to  the 
order  of  the  Division.  The  work  was  very  heavy.  Jack  Keogh 
was  wounded  by  a  shell  at  Coivrel,  and  was  in  a  hospital  for 
two  months. 

From  June  9  until  August  19  it  remained  in  the  Oise  sector, 
being  cantoned  at  Ravenel,  south  of  Montdidier.  The  French 
offensive  here  began  on  the  9th  of  August.  The  169th  Division, 
to  which  the  Section  was  attached,  advanced  from  Le  Ployron 
to  Fescamps,  approximately  twenty  kilometres.  The  front 
postes  during  the  attack  were  at  Domfront,  Rubescourt,  Le 
Ployron,  Assainvillers,  Fescamps,  and  Bus.  The  Section's 
French  Lieutenant,  Lieutenant  BoUaert,  was  killed,  and  Henri 
Werlemman,  his  French  driver,  was  very  gravely  wounded  in 
the  leg  at  the  paste  at  Rubescourt.  The  Section  was  cited  for  its 
work  here. 

From  August  19  until  September  7,  the  Section  was  en  repos 
at  Froissy,  near  Beauvais.  It  went  back  to  the  front  again  on 
September  7,  and  from  this  time  until  October  16  had  some 
of  its  hardest  work.  It  went  into  line  just  behind  Ham  at  a 
town  called  Vilette.  Its  Division  attacked  and  advanced  from 
Ham  to  Saint-Quentin,  and  beyond  to  Mont  Origny  —  a  dis- 
tance of  over  thirty-five  kilometres.  In  this  advance  the  Divi- 
sion broke  the  Hindenburg  line  just  in  front  of  Saint-Quentin. 
The  Section  was  here  again  cited  for  its  work.  During  the  ad- 
vance from  Ham  to  Mont  Origny,  it  worked  postes  at  Ham, 
Ollezy,  Saint-Simon,  Avesne,  Clastres,  Lizerolles,  Essigny-le- 
Grand,  Urvillers,  Itancourt,  Mesnil-Saint-Laurent,  and  Regny. 

481 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


From  October  i6  until  November  i,  it  was  en  repos  at 
Crevecoeur-le-Grand,  near  Beauvais.  On  November  ii,  at  the 
signing  of  the  Armistice,  the  Section  was  at  Guise.  After  the 
Armistice  it  proceeded  with  the  French  Army  of  Occupation 
into  Belgium,  passing  through  Le  Nouvion,  La  Capelle,  Trelon, 
Chimay,  as  far  as  Mariembourg.  The  Division  was  demobilized 
at  La  Nouvion  January  22,  1919,  and  the  Section  went  to 
Crepy-en-Valois,  outside  of  Paris  until  it  was  ordered  to  Base 
Camp  in  February. 


Section  Nine 

THE  STORY  TOLD  BY 

I.  George  R.  Cogswell 
II.  Carleton  Burr 

III.  William  Carey  Sanger,  Jr. 

IV.  Harvey  Cass  Evans 


SUMMARY 

Section  Nine  came  into  existence  on  August  14,  1916,  and 
left  Versailles  for  the  Vosges  Mountains.  It  worked  over  prac- 
tically the  same  ground  that  Section  Three  had  worked  over 
before  it,  serving  in  the  valley  of  the  Thur,  in  the  region  of  the 
Ballon  de.  Guebwiller,  Hartmannsweilerkopf,  and  around 
Mollau  and  Mittlach.  The  Section  left  this  region  of  Alsace  on 
December  14,  1916,  going  to  Bar-le-Duc  and  later  to  Vadelain- 
court  and  Glorieux,  where  they  worked  the  Verdun  front  in 
the  region  of  the  Meuse  River  and  around  Montgrignon.  On 
January  15,  191 7,  the  Section  was  moved  again,  this  time  going 
to  Toul.  On  January  24,  1917,  it  moved  to  Royaumeix,  and 
worked  pastes  at  Saint-Jacques  and  La  Carriere  de  Flirey.  On 
February  5,  1917,  it  again  moved  to  Rupt,  close  to  Saint-Mihiel. 
Another  move  took  place  in  April  to  Ligny-en-Barrois,  Vau- 
couleurs,  and  Eloyes-sur-Moselle.  On  April  19  it  w^ent  to  Van- 
doeuvre,  near  Nancy.  On  June  15  it  worked  about  Pont-^- 
Mousson.  On  October  6  the  Section  changed  once  again,  going 
to  Saint-Max,  just  outside  of  Nancy,  where,  two  weeks  later, 
it  was  taken  over  by  the  United  States  Army  as  Section  Six- 
Twenty-Nine. 


Section  Nine 


O  friends,  in  your  fortunate  present  ease  .  .  . 

If  you  would  see  how  a  race  can  soar 

That  has  no  love,  but  no  fear,  of  war. 

How  each  can  turn  from  his  private  role 

That  all  may  act  as  a  perfect  whole, 

How  men  can  live  up  to  the  place  they  claim 

And  a  nation,  jealous  of  its  good  name, 

Be  true  to  its  proud  inheritance. 

Oh,  look  over  here  and  learn  from  France. 

Alan  Seeger 


I 

Forming  the  Section  —  First  Experiences 
Alsace 

In  June  of  1916,  two  generous  Americans  made  possible 
a  new  Field  Service  section.  Living  in  Paris  from  the  be- 
ginning of  the  war,  they  had  observed  and  recognized 
how  greatly  the  French  Army  appreciated  the  five  sec- 
tions already  in  the  field,  and  they  offered  to  provide  cars 
and  equipment,  and  all  expenses  incident  to  the  formation 
and  maintenance  of  a  sixth  section.  They  made  this  great 
gift  anonymously,  only  asking  that  each  of  the  twenty-five 

485 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


cars  composing  the  section  should  bear  upon  its  name- 
plate  this  inscription: 

*'Aux  Soldats  de  France, 
Deux  Americains  Reconnaissants'* 

The  names  of  the  donors  were  only  known  at  the  time  to 
the  officers  of  the  Field  Service,  but  the  nameless  bene- 
factors maintained  throughout  the  war  deep  interest  in 
the  work  of  the  Section,  and  in  the  welfare  and  achieve- 
ments of  its  members,  sending  them  continually  articles 
for  their  comfort  and  convenience.  We  believe  it  only 
appropriate  to-day  to  state  that  the  donors  of  this  Section 
were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robert  Woods  Bliss. 

Section  Nine  came  into  existence  August  14,  1916,  and 
left  Versailles  for  the  Vosges.  Carleton  Burr  was  the 
American  Chef  and  Lieutenant  J.  Ostheimer,  the  French 
Commander.  Three  days  and  two  nights  of  convoy 
brought  us  to  Rupt-sur-Moselle,  where  we  waited  a  week, 
and  on  August  25  the  Section  moved  and  took  up  its  real 
work  at  Mollau,  a  little  town  in  Alsace  Reconquise,  where 
all  the  natives  speak  a  mixture  of  German  and  French  — 
mostly  German. 

Our  troubles  in  maintaining  the  service  were  caused 
by  mountains  and  poor  roads.  The  first  day,  Walter 
Chrystie's  car  was  assisted  to  the  top  of  the  Ballon  de 
Guebwiller  by  horses,  while  my  car,  going  to  the  poste 
near  Hartmannsweilerkopf,  simply  expired  three  times, 
on  each  of  which  occasions  a  total  change  of  water  in  the 
radiator  was  necessary.  An  hour  in  low  gear  seemed  too 
much.  However,  practice  and  removing  carbon  from 
cylinders  told  in  our  favor  to  such  an  extent  that  finally 
we  could  make  the  grades  unassisted. 

We  had  six  postes  that  required  mountain-climbing. 
There  was  one  car  at  Camp  Hoche,  near  Hartmanns- 
weilerkopf; one  at  Camp  Duchet,  near  the  Sudel;  another 
at  Hoog  on  the  Ballon  de  Guebwiller;  a  fourth  at  Nenette, 
in  the  valley  of  the  Lauchensee;  a  fifth  at  Treh,  the 
mountain  of  Trehkopf;  and  a  sixth  at  Mittlach  in  the 

486 


ONE  OF  OUR  CARS  IN  TROUBLE 


COFFINS  IN  THE  COUKTYAKD  OF  A  BASE  HOSFITAL  IN  ALSACE 


SECTION  NINE 


valley  of  the  Fecht.  In  the  same  valley  as  Mollau  we  had 
two  cars  at  Villers,  and  one  each  at  Moosch,  Wesserling, 
Kriith,  and  Urbes.  Later  Kriith  was  taken  off  and  the 
car  at  Moosch  transferred  to  Camp  Larchey  on  the 
Trehkopf.  For  such  a  widespread  service,  drivers  had  to 
go  to  poste  for  forty-eight  hours  and  then  had  twenty-four 
hours'  repos  at  Mollau.  During  our  four  months'  stay  in 
Alsace  our  only  excitements  were  a  few  near-accidents. 

The  roads  had  sheer  walls  on  one  side  and  a  drop-off 
abruptly  on  the  other.  On  the  outer  side  there  was  occa- 
sionally a  one-foot-high  bank,  as  a  gentle  reminder  that 
you  might  drop  a  long  way  to  the  nearest  tree  down 
the  mountain-side.  Several  cars  temporarily  tight-rope- 
walked  these  little  embankments  in  the  dark.  One  expert 
at  this  game  was  Judd  Farley,  who  on  a  certain  occasion 
had  to  be  pulled  back  onto  the  road  by  three  artillery 
horses  and  about  fifteen  men. 

Our  relations  with  the  French  Army  were  most  cordial. 
The  Section  was  reviewed  by  General  Boyer,  command- 
ing the  Division,  who  congratulated  and  thanked  the 
men  for  the  work  done,  and  when,  on  December  12,  the 
Division  left,  the  General  sent  us  his  felicitations.  On 
December  14  we,  too,  left  Alsace.  A  prettier  sight  I  have 
never  seen.  Two  days  before,  the  country  had  been 
clothed  in  a  blanket  of  snow  three  feet  deep.  The  day 
was  clear  and  there  was  a  real  zip  in  the  air.  Passing 
through  the  little  town  of  Urbes,  the  Section  was  infor- 
mally reviewed  by  the  natives  who  waved  us  good-bye. 
Then  came  the  long  climb  over  the  famous  Col  de  Bus- 
sang,  a  passage  through  the  tunnel,  and  we  were  out  of 
Alsace.  Riding  at  the  end  and  watching  the  long  convoy 
file  out  ahead  was  wonderful. 

Great  Days  at  Verdun 

Two  days  later  found  us  at  Bar-le-Duc.  We  spent  the 
night  at  Joinville.  The  next  day  an  urgent  telephone  mes- 
sage ordered  us  to  the  H.O.E.  of  Vadelaincourt,  and  by 
2.30  in  the  afternoon  we  were  there  —  our  blanket  rolls, 

487 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


section  belongings,  and  all  dumped  out  in  the  mud.  Real 
mud  it  was;  mud  that  was  like  a  ten-pound  weight  on 
your  feet  when  you  walked,  and  like  the  most  exquisite 
auto  grease  if  you  were  on  an  incline.  The  French  had 
just  taken  the  Cote  du  Poivre  and  everything  was  going 
full  blast.  We  set  to  work  helping  Section  Fifteen  evacu- 
ate men  from  Fontaine  Routon  to  the  H.O.E.,  which 
continued  till  2  a.m.,  when  the  whole  Section  was  given 
a  load  for  Bar-le-Duc.  This  finished  our  rush  work,  but 
for  two  weeks  more  we  had  plenty  to  do,  as  we  were 
attached  to  the  hospital. 

On  January  i  we  were  attached  to  the  123d  Division, 
and  our  headquarters  changed  to  Glorieux,  just  outside 
the  city  of  Verdun.  Our  paste  was  on  the  Meuse  River  at 
Montgrignon,  just  across  from  Thierville,  and  we  evacu- 
ated to  Fontaine  Routon,  a  distance  of  about  eighteen 
kilometres.  Then  commenced  two  weeks  of  about  the 
stiff  est  labor  possible  —  not  that  we  had  any  ''red-hot" 
corners  to  round,  but  because  it  was  an  everlasting  grind. 
Theoretically  half  the  Section  would  go  on  duty  for 
twenty-four  hours,  when  the  other  half  would  relieve 
them.  As  a  matter  of  fact  the  work  became  so  heavy  that 
the  squad  en  repos  would  commence  about  2.30  p.m.,  and 
then  officially  go  on  duty  at  7  p.m.,  when  we  could  always 
count  on  keeping  the  motors  humming  steadily  until 
5  A.M.  Between  then  and  11  a.m.  there  were  many  calls, 
though  not  enough  to  keep  the  whole  squad  on  the  go 
continually.  After  that  the  grind  began  again  and  lasted 
until  evening. 

Bed  was  a  welcome  place  after  such  a  turn  on  duty.  In 
fact,  for  two  weeks  we  thought  of  nothing  but  eating, 
sleeping,  and  driving.  Any  great  amount  of  washing, 
either  of  the  men  or  the  cars,  went  by  the  board.  The 
number  of  wounded  carried  cannot  be  told  at  this  writ- 
ing, but  suffice  it  to  say  that  in  two  weeks  the  Section 
covered  more  than  34,000  kilometres  over  abominable 
roads.  The  amount  of  work,  coupled  with  the  fact  that 
we  had  low-spring  hangers  and  were  constantly  banging 

488 


SECTION  NINE 


flat  on  the  axles,  caused  crystallization  of  all  the  axles  so 
that  most  of  them  soon  broke  as  a  result,  which  neither 
lightened  our  labor  nor  our  spirits. 

On  January  15  the  Section  was  moved  again,  this  time 
going  to  Toul,  where  Carleton  Burr  left  the  Section  for 
home.  Every  one,  I  may  add,  was  mighty  sorry  to  see  him 
leave,  for  he  was  a  fine  leader  and  always  well  liked  by 
the  men.  Walter  Jepson  then  became  chef  ^^par  interim.''' 

On  January  24  we  moved  to  Royaumeix,  and  were 
attached  to  the  130th  Division.  Our  postes  were  Saint- 
Jacques  and  La  Carriere  de  Flirey.  Cars  went  out  every 
night.  A  cold  streak  of  weather  made  the  Fords  extremely 
balky.  With  the  temperature  below  zero,  Fahrenheit,  a 
half-hour's  steady  cranking,  often  with  a  torch  on  the 
manifold,  was  the  usual  procedure.  While  running,  the 
lower  half  of  the  radiator  on  every  Ford  was  always 
blocked  to  prevent  freezing. 

Saint-Mihiel,  1917 

On  February  5  the  Section  again  lived  up  to  its  reputa- 
tion as  the  ''Wanderer"  of  the  Field  Service  by  moving 
again.  After  packing  up  in  a  great  hurry  and  thawing  out 
a  few  radiators,  we  got  under  way  about  noon,  and  eleven 
o'clock  that  night  saw  us  installed  at  Rupt  right  by  Saint- 
Mihiel,  where  we  relieved  the  same  French  sanitary  sec- 
tion that  we  relieved  in  the  Vosges.  Our  Division  was  the 
63d.  For  a  fixed  poste  we  had  Pierrefitte,  which  was  sup- 
posed to  keep  three  cars  busy. 

The  Section  shifted  its  cantonment,  March  10,  to 
Villotte,  but  maintained  the  same  service  at  the  front. 
•On  the  15th  the  Boches  shot  at  the  hospital  of  Bellevallee 
which  had  to  be  evacuated  in  a  hurry. 

On  the  evening  of  April  4,  General  Andlauer  and  the 
Staff  of  the  63d  Division,  with  which  Section  Nine  served 
during  many  months,  dined  with  us  in  our  Headquarters, 
when  the  General  presented  each  ''American  volunteer" 
with  a  copy  of  a  letter,  which  was  really  his  speech  at  the 
dinner,  signed  by  him  (see  plate). 

489 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


We  all  felt  very  proud  and  happy,  especially  as  the 
General  shook  hands  and  spoke  with  each  of  us. 

April  3  the  Section  again  moved,  and  this  was  the 
beginning  of  its  famous  tour  with  the  63d  Division.  Three 
nights  were  spent  at  Ligny-en-Barrois.  Then  commenced 
the  real  tour.  We  spent  nights  in  Vaucouleurs,  Coussey, 
\'alaincourt,  Rernoncourt,  Dompaire,  Darnieulles,  and 
finally  a  week  in  Eloyes-sur-Moselle.  During  this  tour  the 
Section  maintained  a  flying  squadron  of  four  to  six  cars 
which  made  the  evacuations  of  sick  and  foot-weary  sol- 
diers. There  was  also  "Hutchinson's  Walking  Club."  A 
half-hour  after  arriving  in  a  place  the  club  would  set  out 
to  see  the  sights,  and  in  this  way  many  kilometres  were 
covered  in  the  few  spare  hours  before  supper-time.  As  the 
country  passed  through  was  where  Jeanne  d'Arc  spent 
her  youth,  it  was  doubly  interesting. 

Work  about  Nancy 

We  moved  on  April  19,  191 7,  to  Vandoeuvre,  near  Nancy, 
and  served  as  reserve  for  the  Army.  June  15  the  Section 
became  attached  to  the  nth  Division  of  Infantry  —  a 
welcome  change  after  two  months  of  repos,  and  we  cov- 
ered the  evacuation  of  this  Division,  which  held  the 
Lorraine  sector,  and  also  the  evacuations  of  the  67th 
Division,  which  held  the  Pont-a-Mousson  sector. 

On  July  I  the  Boches  launched  a  gas  attack  on  the 
region  around  Beaumont,  when  we  hauled  out  over  four 
hundred  asphyxiated  men  in  twenty-four  hours,  and  on 
July  22  General  Vuillemot,  commanding  the  nth  Divi- 
sion, cited,  to  the  Order  of  the  Division,  Jepson,  our  Chef, 
and  the  whole  Section,  for  work  done  on  July  i. 

July  5  Chef  Jepson  went  on  permission,  and  while  in 
Paris,  he  entered  the  French  Aviation  Service.  On  August 
31,  George  R.  Cogswell  was  officially  made  Chef  to  replace 
him.  On  September  i  the  Section  lost  its  French  Com- 
mander, Lieutenant  Binoche,  who  was  called  to  special 
work  at  the  Paris  War  Office.  A  tribute  to  him,  which 
shows  how  well  he  was  loved,  is  found  in  a  remark  of  one 

490 


SECTION  NINE 


of  the  men  who  said,  ''When  Binoche  went  I  felt  as  blue 
as  when  I  left  my  family  in  the  States,  to  come  over  to 
France." 

On  October  6  the  Section  changed  once  again.  A  slow 
convoy  took  us  to  Saint-Max,  just  outside  of  Nancy, 
where  we  were  cantoned  in  the  chalet  adjoining  the  cha- 
teau of  M.  Noel,  where  hardwood  floors,  open  fireplaces, 
electric  lights,  fine  wallpaper,  and  a  landlord  who  spoke 
perfect  English,  helped  to  make  our  stay  as  pleasant  as 
possible. 

On  October  i6  and  17  Nancy  suffered  severely  from  a 
hail  of  aeroplane  bombs,  when  the  Section  evacuated 
about  a  hundred  people  from  the  Hospital  Bon  Pasteur 
and  at  the  same  time  searched  out  and  evacuated  many 
civilians  who  were  wounded  or  killed  by  the  bombard- 
ment. For  this  work,  part  of  which  was  voluntary,  the 
Section  received  the  warm  thanks  of  the  officials  of  the 
Prefecture.  This  was  our  last  work  before  being  taken  over 
by  the  American  Army. 

George  R.  Cogswell  ^ 


^  Of  Cambridge,  Massachusetts;  Harvard,  'i8;  entered  the  Service  in 
June,  1916,  and  became,  later,  a  Lieutenant  in  the  Ambulance  Service  of 
the  American  Army  in  France. 


II 

Life  as  a  Section  Leader 

August  i8,  1916 
Here  we  are,  as  a  Section,  in  a  beautiful  little  town  in  the 
\^osges  Mountains.  With  a  section  of  new  cars  and  an 
eager,  willing  bunch  of  men,  the  life  as  a  section  leader 
for  a  while,  at  least,  should  not  be  a  difificult  one.  Besides, 
as  an  officer,  I  have  thus  far  been  billeted  in  a  private 
room  with  all  the  comforts  of  home.  It  has  its  distinct 
advantages  over  sleeping  in  one's  ambulance  or  in  a  filthy 
barn,  I  assure  you! 

September  11 
We  left  the  "pare"  of  this  army,  where  we  had  remained 
eight  days,  on  August  25,  and  took  up  our  position  and 
duties  in  this  town  of  Alsace  on  the  same  day.  A  lovelier 
trip  than  this  across  the  frontier  pass  could  not  have  been 
sought  for  anywhere,  especially  in  the  clear,  dewy  light  of 
that  early  morning.  That  same  afternoon,  accompanied 
by  the  Lieutenant  of  the  French  section  which  we  were 
replacing,  our  Lieutenant  and  I  sallied  forth  to  visit  as 
many  as  possible  of  the  pastes  we  were  to  serve.  These  are 
divided  into  six  mountain  and  six  valley  pastes,  at  each  of 
which  we  must  maintain  one  car  all  the  time.  To  handle 
this  work,  therefore,  Ave  have  divided  the  Section  into 
three  squads  of  six  men  each,  maintaining,  at  the  same 
time,  a  reserve  of  two  cars  here  at  the  base,  in  case  of 
break-down  or  as  a  relief  if  any  one  of  the  pastes  should 
be  overworked.  Every  afternoon  the  squad  which  has 
been  off  duty  for  twenty-four  hours  replaces  one  of  the 
other  two,  thus  affording  each  individual  forty-eight 
hours  of  duty  and  twenty-four  hours  off.  Under  this  sys- 
tem the  work  becomes  in  no  way  monotonous. 

The  mountain  pastes  are,  of  course,  the  more  interest- 
ing, as  they  are  situated  just  behind  the  first  line  trenches 

492 


general  AaDLAUKR 
To  AneriOa.n  Sanitary  Seotlon  Bine. 

My  dear  friends 

Ontil  yesterday,   you  were  our   friends;    to-day  you 
*ro  our  allies. 

As   friends,   you  have  crovsd  your  friendship   in 
many  ways,   the  best   of  which  is  your  presence  here  amongst 
as. 

As  Allies,  we  £iro  sure  that  we  shall  soon  feel  the 
powerful  and  efflolont  cooperation  of  a  country  lllce  yours, 
80  young,    80  mighty  and  so  noble. 

The  satisfaotory  way   in  whioh  Section  nine  has  ac- 
oompllehed  all   the  work  I  have  given  it,  to  this  day,  makes 
me  confident   that   the  most   difficult    task  will  not   prove 
too  much  for  your  oourage  and  your  good  will. 

I  drink  to  the  health  of  President   Wilson,  the  United 

States  People,  Army  and  Navy,   our  Allies  of  the  War  of  In- 

dep.-ndence  and  our  Allies  of  the  War  for  the  Liberty  of  Ha- 

t lona. 

Le  General  AKDLAUBH 
Qonr.aodanl  la  63e  Division. 


..^ 
-^"==^^$i==- 


GENERAL  ANDLAUER'S   LETTER  TO   SECTION   NINE   WHEN 
AMERICA  JOINED   THE  ALLIES 


SECTION  NINE 


and  one  must  surmount  prodigious  grades  to  reach  them. 
In  some  places,  especially  along  the  crests  of  the  moun- 
tains, the  road  is  cut  out  of  the  cliff  with  nothing  but 
open  air  between  the  outside  edge  and  the  valley  bottom, 
several  hundred  feet  below.  I  foresee  that,  with  the  ad- 
vent of  winter  snows,  driving  Fords  in  the  Vosges  is  going 
to  become  an  amusing  form  of  sport,  to  say  the  least!  If 
no  car  goes  over  the  edge  during  the  winter  on  any  of  the 
bad  corners  which  we  encounter  daily,  I  shall  consider 
we  are  very  lucky.  It  has  been  done  several  times  by  our 
predecessors  with  varying  degrees  of  damage  to  car  and 
driver.  However,  '^c'est  la  guerre!'' 

We  have  been  received  wonderfully  by  every  one  since 
our  arrival  here  in  the  valley,  due  largely  to  the  excellent 
name  Section  Three  made  for  itself  here  during  the  last 
December  attacks.  The  sector  is  so  quiet  now,  however, 
that  even  the  men  in  the  trenches  (as  I  have  already  seen 
for  myself)  are  enjoying  a  peaceful  "vacation,"  which, 
unfortunately,  is  a  cause  of  impatience  among  our  men 
as  they  are  naturally  eager  to  prove  themselves  as 
worthy  as  our  American  predecessors.  For  me,  at  least, 
this  life  is  a  delightful  contrast  to  that  of  Verdun.  This 
country  is  teeming  with  tradition,  and  the  associations 
now  forming  in  Alsace  Reconguise  will  lend  themselves 
to  many  pleasant  recollections  in  later  years.  Of  course 
my  opportunities  are  unlimited,  as  I  am  received  by  all 
French  officers  as  a  fellow-officer.  Only  to-day,  for  ex- 
ample, I  lunched  with  a  colonel,  a  captain,  and  two  lieu- 
tenants who,  collectively,  form  the  group  of  ''les  Officiers 
de  r Administration''  of  French  Alsace.  You  can  imagine 
the  interesting  bits  I  gleaned  from  their  conversation. 

A  good  example  of  the  Alsatian  feelings  toward  Ameri- 
cans was  shown  to  me  the  other  day  w^hen  visiting  Rich- 
ard Hall's  grave.  In  the  beautiful  little  military  cemetery 
in  which  he  is  buried  I  found  his  grave  with  its  simple 
wooden  cross  bearing  his  name  and  the  legend,  ''mort  pour 
la  patrie."  But  also  the  touch  of  some  devoted  caretaker 
was  present,  for,  on  the  grave  itself,  were  growing  some 

493 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


freshly  watered  little  flowering  plants.  Upon  questioning 
a  doctor  of  the  near-by  hospital,  I  found  that  ever  since 
Section  Three  had  left  in  January,  two  girls  of  the  only 
cafe  in  town  had  voluntarily  assumed  the  role  of  care- 
takers. Of  course  I  paid  them  a  call  and  found  them  just 
as  nice  as  they  were  plain.  They  seemed  to  consider  it 
only  natural,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  Hall,  several  times 
before  his  death,  had  taken  his  meals  in  their  establish- 
ment and  that  he  had  left  no  immediate  friends  in  this 
neighborhood,  they  should  do  this  little  bit  in  his  behalf. 
This  is  typical  of  the  sympathetic  attention  we  encounter 
at  every  turn  (not  that  we  have  selected  our  grave- 
tenders  as  yet!),  and  which  feeling,  I  am  convinced,  is 
mothered  only  by  intense  suffering.  The  peoples  of  Eu- 
rope should,  therefore,  gain  something,  if  only  morally, 
out  of  this  miserable  war. 

October  24 
You  would  be  amazed,  I  am  sure,  at  the  seeming  ease  in 
which  war  is  carried  on,  which  fact,  however,  is  not  so 
noticeable  in  busier  sectors.  Every  one  goes  about  his 
business  in  his  own  quiet  way,  the  element  of  glamour 
being  almost  entirely  lacking.  Very  little  sentiment  is 
manifested  over  either  the  wounded  or  the  dead,  for 
these  are  part  of  the  day's  routine.  If  you  went  into  the 
trenches,  you  would  find  a  group  of  normal,  healthy  men 
leading  an  apparently  normal  existence.  You  would  no- 
tice much  more  confusion  and  annoyance  if  something 
went  wrong  with  the  cook's  stove,  than  if  a  large  German 
mar  mite  suddenly  wiped  out  two  or  three  poilus.  Man  be- 
comes accustomed  to  his  surroundings  so  rapidly  that 
even  war  loses  many  of  its  terrors  for  him  after  he  has 
been  thoroughly  initiated.  The  phase  which  w^ould  trou- 
ble you  most,  as  it  does  almost  every  participant  in  a 
quiet  sector,  is  the  seeming  inactivity.  Patience,  in  such 
times  as  these,  is  the  hardest  virtue  to  acquire.  Both  the 
sentinel  at  his  loop-hole  and  the  ambulance  driver  on  his 
car  wish  that  events  could  be  produced  more  rapidly  in 

494 


SECTION  NINE 


order  that  something  definite  might  be  determined.  To 
be  held  in  constant  suspense  becomes  almost  unbearable. 
It  is  for  this  reason  that  the  roles  played  by  the  British 
navy  and  the  French  cavalry  at  this  time  are  not  enviable 
ones.  But,  to  pass  the  time  more  quickly  we  are  lucky 
here  in  having  many  diversions.  When  not  occupied  by 
regular  duty  (which  for  me  is  the  majority  of  time),  there 
are  many  beautiful  walks  which  always  reveal  something 
new  of  interest.  Also  we  play  association  football  and  re- 
sort frequently  to  boxing  gloves. 

Luckily,  nothing  but  solitary  confinement  can  prevent 
the  forming  of  friendships,  and  we  have  not  reached  that 
stage  yet!  These  friendships  and  associations,  wielded  to- 
gether by  a  spirit  of  comradeship  which  could  not  be  as 
strong  if  we  w^ere  not  all  working  for  one  common  cause, 
are  what  make  this  life  such  an  enviable  one. 

December  i 
This  sector  remains  as  quiet  as  ever,  but  this  does  not 
mean  that  the  maintenance  of  our  service  is  always  an 
easy  task.  The  bitter  cold  and  icy  roads  are  two  elements 
which,  at  times,  are  difficult  to  combat.  The  wounded 
men  we  carry  are  actually  few,  but  the  number  of  those 
with  frozen  feet  is  daily  augmenting.  In  this  sector,  na- 
ture is  man's  greatest  enemy,  especially  when  campaign- 
ing settles  down  to  trench  warfare. 

Carleton  Burr  ^ 


1  Of  Boston,  Massachusetts;  Harvard,  '13;  joined  the  Field  Service  in 
February,  1916,  serving  with  Section  Two,  and  as  Chef  oi  Section  Nine  until 
January,  191 7;  later  a  Lieutenant  in  the  U.S.  Marine  Corps;  killed  in  ac- 
tion, July  29,  191 8.  These  extracts  are  from  home  letters. 


Ill 

Leaves  from  a  Section  Nine  Diary 

The  Bordeaux  Station,  December  6,  1 916 
The  station  platform  and  the  trains  were  crowded  with 
soldiers,  either  coming  from  the  front  on  their  seven  days' 
leave  or  else  starting  out  again  after  their  brief  week  of 
rest  was  ended.  Now  and  then  in  the  crowd  one  could 
distinguish  the  uniform  of  a  colonel  or  a  captain.  There 
were  several  lieutenants,  and  many  sergeants  and  cor- 
porals. But  the  great  majority  were  the  plain,  everyday 
soldiers,  the  mainstay  and  backbone  of  the  army,  les 
poilus.  Most  of  them  were  short  and  stocky,  all  with 
mustaches.  The  gray-blue  uniform  of  the  soldier  is  almost 
invariably  faded  by  reason  of  long  and  hard  usage,  his 
casque  shows  signs  of  age  and  wear;  he  bears  a  rather 
formidable  number  of  little  brown  musettes,  which  are 
slung  over  his  shoulders  and  hang  at  the  hips  and  back, 
and  which  are  always  stuffed  full  and  bulging  out  with 
odds  and  ends  which  he  carries.  Some  militaires  had  their 
full  equipment  with  them,  rifles,  knapsack,  and  all,  while 
others  who  were  just  back  for  permission  had  evidently 
been  allowed  to  leave  their  arms  and  packs  with  their 
divisions  at  the  front.  I  watched  them  there  on  the  sta- 
tion platform,  as  they  stood  about  in  groups  talking, 
sometimes  solemnly  and  gravely,  sometimes  smilingly 
and;laughing.  Here  and  there  a  soldier's  wife,  or  mother, 
or  fiancee  would  be  standing  talking  with  him.  Most  of 
the  women  were  dressed  in  black,  though  now  and  then  a 
touch  of  color  would  lend  a  pathetic  note  of  gaiety  to  the 
scene.  The  officers  on  the  platform  usually  walk  up  and 
down  in  twos  or  threes,  their  uniforms  spick-and-span,  the 
little  gold  bars  on  their  sleeves  and  caps  flashing  in  the 
light;  but  le  pauvre  poilu,  with  his  faded  uniform  and  his 
great  collection  of  bags,  knapsacks,  and  so  on,  usually  se- 
lects some  place  on  the  platform  and  then  stays  there.  He 

496 


SECTION  NINE 


has  too  many  things  to  carry  to  walk  up  and  down  for 
pleasure,  and  besides,  when  he  gets  to  the  muddy  roads 
at  the  front,  he  has  to  do  more  than  enough  walking 
heavy-loaded  with  equipment.  But,  although  the  officers 
looked  so  formidable,  I  noticed  that  when  they  had  occa- 
sion to  speak  to  any  soldier,  or  when  the  latter  asked  an 
officer  any  question,  the  officer  always  replied  with  the 
greatest  kindness  and  spirit  of  comradeship.  They  seemed 
like  brothers  talking  to  each  other. 

Hospital  Work  at  Vadelaincourt 

December  22,  19 16 
The  evening  we  arrived  at  Vadelaincourt,  the  Section 
began  its  work  of  helping  in  the  evacuation  of  the  wounded 
from  the  H.O.E.  Throughout  the  evening  and  the  night 
the  wounded  kept  arriving  in  great  numbers.  French, 
British,  and  American  ambulances  brought  them  in. 
Railroad  trains  and  American  ambulances  took  them  out. 
The  wounded  were  all  first  classified  as  assis  or  couches 
and  they  arrived  at  separate  entrances.  One  does  not 
easily  forget  the  scenes  at  a  large  evacuation  hospital  as 
the  wounded  from  a  big  attack  come  in.  The  sights,  the 
sounds,  the  smells  —  the  never-ending  stream  of  incoming 
ambulances,  the  mud  everywhere.  Each  big  ambulance 
that  pulled  up  at  the  door  brought  with  it  a  peculiar  and 
ghastly  odor  —  rather  hard  to  describe  —  strange,  sweet- 
ish, sickening,  pungent,  utterly  revolting  —  a  combina- 
tion of  gasoline  fumes,  mud,  unwashed  filth,  sweat,  surgi- 
cal dressings,  and  the  hot,  heavy  air  from  the  closely 
crowded  ambulance  cars;  for  the  weather  was  cold,  and 
while  en  route  the  doors  and  canvas  flaps  of  the  ambu- 
lances were  closed.  Throughout  the  evening  and  the  night 
that  stream  of  ambulances  kept  coming  in.  As  each  car 
arrived  the  tired  hrancardiers  unloaded  the  wounded  un- 
der the  rays  of  light  from  one  or  two  lanterns  by  the 
wooden  portal  of  the  entrance.  The  blood-soaked  ban- 
dages gave  ghastly  testimony  of  the  severity  of  the 
wounds.  The  blood  often  dripped  upon  the  stretchers  and 

497 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


the  floor  of  the  car.  Many  of  the  wounded  were  zouaves, 
Moroccans,  and  Algerians,  being  extensively  used  in 
forming  attacking  divisions.  These  Moroccan  and  Al- 
gerian troops  wear  yellowish  khaki  uniforms,  their  steel 
helmets  are  of  the  same  color,  and  their  fatigue  caps  are 
a  sort  of  red  fez,  in  marked  contrast  to  the  blue  fatigue 
caps  of  various  shapes  which  the  native  French  soldiers 
wear  while  e7i  repos. 

Sad  —  picturesque  —  depressing  —  inspiring  —  that 
was  Vadelaincourt.  The  general  tone  color  of  the  place 
was  brown — muddy  brown.  The  rain-washed  earth  in  the 
fields,  the  rain-soaked  board  hospital  buildings,  the  rain- 
drenched  roads  —  all  brown  and  sad  and  dreary.  The 
region  around  Vadelaincourt  consists  of  low,  gently  slop- 
ing plains,  for  the  most  part  unwooded,  and,  as  I  saw  it  in 
December,  191 6, muddy  and  brown  and  forlorn.  Wounded 
German  prisoners  were  kept  in  hospital  buildings  close  to 
the  centre  of  the  French  group.  Unwounded  German  pris- 
oners were  used  for  road  repair  work  in  and  about  the 
region.  Within  sight  of  the  hospital  buildings  was  the 
military  cemetery.  We  were  told  that  eight  months  before 
there  were  seven  graves;  now  there  were  hundreds,  and 
every  day  the  cemetery  w^as  growing.  Sometimes  a  pro- 
cession of  officers  and  soldiers  would  accompany  the  plain 
pine-box  coffin  to  its  last  resting-place,  indicating  that  an 
officer  had  died.  Sometimes  there  would  be  no  one  but 
the  priest  and  the  grave-diggers.  The  graves  of  the  Mo- 
hammedan troops  w^ere  all  at  an  angle  facing  Mecca, 
and  strange  Mohammedan  crescents  and  signs  were  in- 
scribed on  the  name  boards  over  their  graves.  The  French 
dead  all  received  plain  wooden  coffins.  Often,  when  sev- 
eral were  buried  at  a  time,  a  large  trench  would  be  dug, 
each  coffin  being  placed  practically  touching  the  next  one. 
The  colored  Mohammedans  were  wTapped  in  a  white 
sheet  —  the  blood  from  the  wounds  of  which  they  died 
sometimes  darkening  and  clotting  on  the  winding-sheet 
—  and  were  laid  on  their  sides  w^ith  their  feet  toward 
Mecca,  so  very  far  away. 

498 


SECTION  NINE 


New  Year's  Eve  on  the  Roads  about  \'erdun 

On  one  occasion  my  car  was  blocked  by  a  long  artillery 
convoy  which  got  stuck  in  the  mud  on  a  narrow  road  near 
Vadelaincourt.  The  night  was  cloudy  and  misty  and  dark, 
and  as  the  road  was  very  narrow  it  was  impossible  to 
keep  the  two-  and  three-team  guns  and  caissons  from 
now  and  then  getting  one  wheel  over  into  the  mud  at 
the  roadside.  Whenever  this  happened  it  meant  a  long 
delay  for  the  convoy. 

From  somewhere  in  the  darkness  ahead  could  be  heard 
the  shouts  of  men  tugging  and  hauling  at  the  wheels  and 
helping  the  horses  that  strained  at  the  traces,  while  the 
harness  clanked  and  snapped  and  jingled.  There  were  one 
or  two  lanterns  up  ahead  where  the  soldiers  were  grouped 
about  the  mud-embedded  wheels.  As  the  convoy  did  not 
seem  to  be  making  any  progress,  I  decided  to  walk  up 
ahead  and  investigate  the  situation.  Perhaps  I  could  see 
the  officer  in  charge  and  find  out  from  him  how  long  the 
delay  would  last.  I  accordingly  took  a  lantern  and  set 
out  on  foot  through  the  deep  mud  toward  the  head  of 
the  convoy.  As  I  went  forward,  I  passed  several  heavily 
loaded  wagons  and  then  came  upon  two  or  three  cannon, 
and  then  more  artillery,  and  again  some  more.  The  tired 
French  soldiers,  standing  beside  the  trucks  and  wagons 
and  gun  caissons,  looked  curiously  at  me  as  I  hurried  for- 
ward. I  stopped  now  and  then  to  ask  for  the  officer  in 
charge.  The  answer  was  always  the  same,  ''En  avant''; 
and  they  pointed  up  ahead  to  where  one  or  two  lanterns 
and  the  struggling  horses  told  of  the  efforts  to  free  the  big 
guns  from  the  grip  of  the  mud.  The  soldiers,  as  always, 
were  anxious  to  do  all  they  could  to  help  the  Americans 
with  their  ambulances,  and  after  I  had  gone  about  half- 
way down  the  line  one  of  them,  when  I  had  explained  my 
difficulties,  came  with  me  to  find  the  officer  in  charge.  Hot 
and  tired,  and  troubled  as  I  was,  I  could  not  help  seeing 
the  picturesque  side  of  it  all  as  I  and  my  friend  hurried 
forward,  and  the  glow  of  my  lantern  lit  up  the  muddy, 

499 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


rain-soaked  men  and  horses  and  guns.  At  last  I  came  to 
the  officer  who  was  directing  the  work  of  extricating  the 
wheels  of  a  large  gun  from  the  mud.  Eight  or  ten  horses, 
hitched  two  abreast,  were  straining  at  the  traces,  while 
scores  of  men  tugged  at  the  wheels  to  move  them  forward. 
What  delayed  them  was  the  fact  that  no  sooner  had  they 
got  one  gun  or  wagon  onto  the  road  than  another,  a  little 
way  in  front  or  behind,  would  get  into  the  ditch,  and  they 
would  have  to  take  the  extra  horses  and  men  forward  or 
back  to  their  new  job.  And  so  it  went.  The  officer  in  charge 
was  very  courteous  and  kindly,  and  said  that  the  convoy 
was  destined  for  Deux  Nouds,  where  they  were  to  spend 
the  night,  but  that  from  the  looks  of  things  he  did  not 
expect  they  would  cover  the  remaining  three  kilometres 
till  dawn!  There  was  only  one  thing  for  me  to  do,  so  I 
hurried  back  in  the  direction  of  my  ambulance.  It  seemed 
to  take  forever  to  get  back  to  the  point  in  the  convoy 
where  my  car  was  stationed.  When  I  had  first  come  to  the 
convoy  it  was  moving  forward  a  little  —  stopping  and 
then  starting  again.  The  road  was  at  that  point  broad 
enough  to  pass,  and  not  knowing  the  road,  I  had  hoped 
that  it  would  continue  so.  Accordingly  I  went  forward, 
now  and  then  —  where  there  was  a  vacant  place  in  the 
convoy  taking  it,  especially  if  there  was  a  narrow  place  on 
the  road.  The  convoy,  as  I  have  said,  was  at  that  time 
making  slight  headway.  After  holding  my  place  in  the 
convoy  for  a  little  while,  as  we  went  ahead  foot  by  foot,  I 
noticed  that  the  road  had  become  so  narrow  that  it  was 
impossible  to  turn  out  of  the  line.  Then  the  convoy  got 
stopped  —  unable  to  move  forward  a  single  step.  That 
was  when  I  went  forward  on  foot,  as  I  have  described,  and, 
upon  learning  that  there  was  no  hope  of  m.oving  forward 
before  morning,  I  came  back  and,  with  the  aid  of  ten  or  a 
dozen  soldiers  from  the  artillery  train,  got  my  ambulance 
turned  around  and  managed  to  get  it  back  through  the 
mud  at  the  sides  of  the  road  till  I  reached  the  rear  of  the 
convoy  again.  But  by  this  time  the  low-speed  clutch  band 
on  my  car  had  been  worn  out  by  the  friction,  and  so  I  was 

500 


BREAKFAST,   SECTION   NIXE  — AT  AX   AMERICAX   FIELD    SERVICE 
KITCHEX,   IX   THE   LIGXY-ENBARROIS   REGIOX 


WOODEX-BARRACK   HOSPITAL- THE   '  TllIACJE 


SECTION  NINE 


stalled.  I  ran  back  to  the  nearest  village  and  telephoned 
to  S.S.U.  Nine  for  another  car.  This  arrived  soon  with 
Johnson  at  the  wheel.  The  wounded  were  transferred  to 
his  car  and  I  went  with  him  by  another  and  a  somewhat 
longer  road  to  Deux  Nouds,  where  we  left  the  wounded. 
In  the  morning  I  and  the  mechanics  came  back  and  towed 
my  car  to  Vadelaincourt. 

"Quelle  Existence" 

Whenever  I  think  of  that  convoy,  in  addition  to  the 
above-described  scenes  there  comes  to  my  mind  the  pic- 
ture of  an  old  mounted  artilleryman.  He  and  his  horse 
were  muddy,  and  rain-soaked,  and  tired  out.  He  was  just 
in  front  of  my  car  when  I  got  in  the  jam  and  I  asked  him 
whether  he  thought  there  would  be  a  long  delay.  He  did 
not  know.  He  added  that  the  convoy  had  left  Verdun 
that  morning  at  4  a.m.  and  was  scheduled  to  reach  Deux 
Nouds  by  late  afternoon.  They  had  had  only  a  bite  to  eat 
during  the  whole  day.  I  afterwards  heard  that  owing  to 
the  difficulties  with  the  mud,  they  did  not  reach  Deux 
Nouds  till  the  following  dawn.  When  he  learned  that  I  was 
of  the  Field  Service  he  asked  how  long  I  had  been  at  the 
front.  I  told  him  I  had  only  just  arrived  a  week  before. 
He  seemed  half  asleep  as  he  sat  there  on  his  tired  horse. 
His  head  was  bent  forward.  He  roused  himself,  and,  indi- 
cating with  a  gesture  of  his  hand  himself  and  his  com- 
rades in  the  convoy,  said,  '^ Pour  nous,  trente  mois  de  la 
guerre,  trente  mois.  Quelle  existence,  quelle  existence!'^ 

As  I  came  to  our  canal  boat  by  the  banks  of  the  Meuse 
canal,  on  my  return,  a  company  or  two  of  French  soldiers 
in  single  file  were  silently  moving  along  the  towpath  on 
their  way  to  the  front-line  trenches.  In  the  cold  night 
mist  they  looked  like  shadowy,  muffled  ghosts  moving 
slowly  onward  to  some  strange  doom.  Possibly  some  of 
them  were  thinking  at  that  time,  "What  an  existence, 
what  an  existence!"  Perhaps  in  the  early  hours  of  the 
night,  before  they  had  been  ordered  to  the  lines,  they  had 
been  sleeping  —  fully  dressed,  with  guns  and  bayonets 

501 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 

close  by  —  below  some  shattered  caserne  near  the  front. 
Let  us  hope  that  they  slept  well.  And  if  they  dreamt,  let 
us  trust  they  dreamt  of  home  and  rest  and  peacefulness. 
But  more  than  likely  their  sleep  was  troubled  by  weird 
and  ghastly  dreams.  Perhaps  now  and  again  they  were 
awakened  by  the  crash  of  a  shell  in  the  great  deserted  bar- 
racks above-ground  —  for  the  guns  are  always  restless 
at  Verdun.  At  all  events,  like  tired  ghosts  in  blue-gray 
shrouds,  now  they  moved  onward  in  silence  to  disappear 
into  the  shadows  of  the  night.  Perhaps  the  following 
night  some  of  them,  clothes  muddy  and  torn,  and  cov- 
ered with  blood,  would  be  carried  back  in  American 
ambulances  to  the  under-ground  operating-rooms  in  the 
city  of  Verdun  or  to  the  distant  hospital  at  Fontaine 
Routon.  And  others  would  find  that  quiet  and  un- 
troubled rest  which  had  so  long  been  denied  them,  and 
their  soul-refreshing  sleep  would  be  untroubled  by  the 
fitfulness  and  wakefulness  of  the  night  before.  For  the 
tumult  of  the  shells  above  their  heads  would  be  no  tu- 
mult, and  their  torn  and  tired  bodies  would  feel  no  pain. 

At  Villotte 

March,  191 7 
One  night,  while  sleeping  in  the  big  attic  hay-loft,  I 
gradually  became  aware  of  a  far-away  sound  as  though  a 
deep-toned  bell  were  ringing.  As  I  awoke,  the  sound  seemed 
nearer  and  nearer  until  at  last  I  realized  it  was  the  church 
bell  of  Villotte.  The  church  was  not  a  hundred  yards 
away.  The  sound  was  not  the  ordinary  slow  peals  of  a 
church  bell  on  Sunday,  but  was  as  though  some  giant 
w^th  a  large  hammer  was  striking  a  quick  succession  of 
blows  on  the  bell,  making  it  sound  almost  like  the  ringing 
of  a  great  gong.  The  hammer  blows  would  continue  for 
about  half  a  minute  and  then  stop  for  a  few  seconds,  and 
then  commence  again.  I  also  heard  in  the  distance  the 
roll  of  a  drum.  The  other  ambulance  men  in  the  loft  were 
waking  too.  "Le  tocsin  et  le  tambour !''  It  was  the  signal 
for  gas.  We  had  our  orders,  and  in  a  moment  were  dressed, 

502 


SECTION  NINE 


gas-masks  slung  about  our  necks  in  the  position  of  readi- 
ness. We  were  soon  out,  each  in  front  of  his  car.  We  cranked 
our  cars  and  let  the  engines  run  for  a  little  to  see  that  they 
were  warmed  up  and  working  properly.  We  adjusted  our 
masks  and  then  put  them  in  readiness,  awaiting  orders. 
As  yet  no  gas-clouds  had  reached  Villotte.  I  shall  never 
forget  the  weirdness  of  the  scene  that  night.  The  wild 
church  bell  clanged  out  its  notes  of  warning  into  the  dark- 
ness, and  up  and  down  the  village  street  walked  a  French 
soldier  with  drum  and  gas-mask.  His  warning  drumbeats 
rolled  out  and  echoed  back  from  the  stone  and  plaster 
walls  of  the  little  houses  along  the  way.  The  streets  were 
deserted.  Doors  and  windows  were  shut  and  except  for 
the  Americans,  the  French  drummer,  and  some  French 
sentries  at  the  crossroads,  not  a  soul  was  in  sight.  Sud- 
denly out  of  the  darkness  down  the  street  came  a  woman 
dressed  in  black.  She  wore  a  gas-mask.  In  her  arms  she 
carried  a  baby,  with  a  mask  over  its  face,  and  a  little  child 
about  five  years  old,  also  with  a  mask,  ran  along  beside 
her  crying  and  clinging  to  her  skirts  as  she  half -walked, 
half-ran  up  the  street.  They  were  going  to  the  schoolhouse 
or  to  the  home  of  some  friend  who  had  a  room  specially 
arranged  for  just  such  an  emergency.  The  little  group 
were  soon  lost  to  view  in  the  gloomy  shadows.  As  we  stood 
there  by  our  ambulances,  we  wondered  if  even  at  that 
moment  the  deadly  gas-clouds  were  drifting  slowly  across 
the  dreary  plain  and  would  soon  reach  Villotte  and  the 
neighboring  towns.  In  the  intervals  when  the  \'illotte  bell 
was  not  ringing  we  could  hear  the  warning  bell  in  one  of 
the  near-by  towns.  There  was  a  light  wind  blowing  from 
the  direction  of  the  German  lines.  For  about  half  or  three 
quarters  of  an  hour  the  warning  bells  continued  to  ring; 
then  they  stopped  as  suddenly  as  they  had  begun.  After 
a  time  we  were  given  orders  to  return  to  quarters.  We 
learned  afterwards  that  there  had  been  a  small  gas  attack 
somewhere  along  the  lines  in  the  general  region  of  Saint- 
Mihiel,  but  that  the  wind  had  not  carried  the  deadly  fumes 
to  Rupt  or  Villotte. 

503 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


Epilogue 

In  my  imagination  I  often  go  back  again  into  the  past. 
Again  I  think  of  those  tumultuous  times  when  the  soldiers 
of  France  fought  to  save  their  country  and  all  civilization 
from  the  tyranny  of  autocracy  and  militarism  which  the 
German  hordes  were  striving  to  impose  upon  the  world. 
During  the  war  the  splendid  valor  and  courage  of  the 
French  people  has  been  gloriously  proved  to  all,  and  es- 
pecially to  those  of  us  who  were  privileged  to  serve  with 
the  French  Army  in  the  field ;  for  we  can  fully  appreciate 
the  hardships  and  agony  which  France  has  undergone, 
and  can  bear  witness  to  her  indomitable  courage  and  her 
heroic  sacrifices  in  the  cause  of  world  liberty  and  freedom. 
But  in  addition  to  her  superb  fighting  qualities,  France's 
character  is  richly  endow^ed  with  love,  and  with  a  sympa- 
thetic kindliness  and  a  gentleness  and  tenderness  which 
endear  her  to  all  who  come  to  know  her.  As  I  have  said 
my  thoughts  often  turn  back  again  into  the  past.  I  see 
them  yet,  those  armies  of  the  French  Republic,  marching 
forward  in  the  mist  and  snow  at  Verdun.  How  many  of 
those  brave  soldiers  are  now  at  rest,  and  those  who  live  — 
what  weird  and  troubled  scenes  their  memories  can  con- 
jure up  before  them  —  they  who  have  passed  through  the 
horror  and  agony  of  those  long  and  bitter  years! 

William  Carey  Sanger,  Jr.^ 

^  Of  Sangerfield,  New  York;  Harvard,  1916;  joined  Section  Nine  in  De- 
cember, 1916;  he  left  the  Service  in  May  to  become  a  First  Lieutenant  in 
the  U.S.  Infantry.  These  are  excerpts  from  Mr.  Sanger's  new  book,  With 
the  Soldiers  of  the  French  Republic. 


IV 

Summary  of  the  Section's  History  under  the 
United  States  Army 

It  was  at  Menil-la-Tour,  in  the  Woevre  sector,  that  the  re- 
cruiting officers  first  came  to  Section  Nine.  C/^e/ Cogswell,  John 
Machado,  Alexander  Greene,  and  Harvey  Evans  enlisted  on 
September  29,  191 7,  the  others  deciding  to  enter  other  services. 
The  first  contingent  of  army  ambulance  men  as  replacements 
came  late  in  October,  followed  a  few  days  later  by  ten  members 
of  old  Section  Seventy-Two,  which  had  been  broken  up. 

The  Section  entered  the  Lorraine  front,  north  of  Luneville, 
January  i,  191 8  and  moved  out  on  April  20,  after  having  won  a 
second  divisional  citation  for  its  part  in  a  raid  on  Washington's 
birthday.  The  Section  carried  2428  evacues  there. 

From  Toul,  the  Section  embarked  on  trains  and  went  up 
behind  the  Amiens  front  in  Picardy  and  then  up  to  Belgium, 
where  it  entered  the  lines  in  front  of  Mont  Kemmel  on  May  5, 
191 8.  There  seventeen  nights  without  much  sleep  or  rest  from 
continuous  work  were  spent,  and  3367  wounded  were  carried  in 
that  time. 

After  a  short  repos,  we  entered  the  lines  again,  in  Belgium 
this  time,  for  twelve  days'  easy  work,  leaving  on  July  9,  bound 
south  in  convoy,  after  handling  only  ninety-eight  blesses.  The 
Delage  repair  car  was  lost  on  this  trip,  the  White  and  kitchen 
trailer  having  been  lost  coming  up. 

Following  a  speedy  convoy  of  two  days,  the  Section  pulled 
into  Betz,  near  Villers-Cotterets  to  assist  Section  585,  which 
was  in  dire  need  of  assistance,  and  then  entered  the  lines  on  the 
night  of  July  17,  191 8,  at  Faverolles.  The  Section  continued 
steadily  forward  for  twenty-one  days  without  relief,  and  made 
very  long  evacuations.  We  had  passed  through  Chouy,  Oulchy 
le-Chateau,  Arcy,  and  up  to  Jouaignes  before  relief  came.  The 
Section  did  exceptionally  good  work  in  this  sector  and  was 
awarded  an  army  citation. 

Repos,  beginning  August  8,  followed.  August  23,  the  Section 
entered  the  lines  left  of  Soissons,  remaining  until  September  6, 
and  then  went  to  the  Chemin  des  Dames,  on  the  other  side  of 
Soissons,  from  September  9  until  the  15th;  then  once  again  the 
convoy  was  headed  north,  after  carrying  a  total  of  1221 
wounded. 

505 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


This  was  "some"  convoy  to  Bergues,  Flanders,  and  meant 
second-line  duty  back  of  Ypres,  at  Woesten,  for  us,  before  going 
into  the  swamps  of  Flanders  at  Langemarck.  On  October  2  we 
pushed  ahead  with  the  Division  until  firm  ground  was  reached 
at  Roulers,  and  repos  was  declared  on  October  17.  The  final 
attack  of  the  war  in  Belgium  began  on  October  30,  and  the 
Section  was  heavily  at  work  at  Spriete,  Desselghem,  and 
Audenarde  on  the  Scheldt  River  until  the  Armistice  was  signed. 
Then  came  the  fun,  the  triumphal  march  to  the  Rhine  through 
Belgium,  up  through  Aix-la-Chapelle,  Germany,  and  then  10 
the  Rhine  at  Grevenbroich,  arriving  there  on  December  12. 

The  happy  day  came  on  January  29,  1919,  when  orders  came 
to  move  south.  This  was  the  best  of  all  —  down  the]  Rhine 
to  Belfort,  France,  and  up  to  Remiremont,  where  relief  came 
the  middle  of  February.  After  that,  Brest  —  and  home. 

Harvey  Cass  Evans  ^ 


^  Of  Joplin,  Missouri;  University  of  Missouri;  served  two  months  in  the 
Field  Service,  and  continued  under  the  Army  in  Section  Nine  until  the 
Armistice. 


Vosges  Detachment 

THE  STORY  TOLD  BY 
I.  Joseph  R.  Greenwood 


SUMMARY 

To  continue  in  Alsace  the  work  of  Sections  Three  and  Nine 
in  December,  191 6,  the  Vosges  Detachment  of  six  ambulances 
went  to  Wilier.  There  the  Detachment  remained  for  eight 
months  attached  to  the  52d  French  Division,  and  serving  the 
mountain  pastes  of  Mittlach,  Larchey,  Thann,  Hartmanns- 
weilerkopf,  etc.  In  August,  191 7,  the  men  and  cars  w^ere  re- 
turned to  Paris,  and  the  Vosges  Detachment  as  a  separate  unit 
was  disbanded. 


^-^      ->-S 


Vosges  Detachment 

Most  sane,  most  spiritual,  because  most  sane, 
Upon  her  bitter  road  she  steadfast  shows 
The  sacrifice  majestic,  while  again 
Freedom's  own  everlasting  altar  flows 
With  France's  blood;  in  that  most  sacred  stain 
Once  more  her  own  immortal  genius  glows. 

Eden  Phillpotts 


Mountain  Work 

The  Vosges  Detachment  of  the  American  Field  Service 
was  formed  in  December,  191 6,  at  the  direct  request  of 
Commandant  Doumenc,  Director  of  the  French  Army 
Automobile  Service,  to  carry  on  the  work  of  evacuating 
the  wounded  in  that  mountainous  sector  of  the  front 
which  had  been  so  well  served  by  Section  Three  and 
Section  Nine.  For  a  clear  understanding  of  the  work  done 
by  the  light  Field  Service  ambulances  in  this  sector,  it 
is  really  necessary  to  have  a  mental  picture  of  the 
country  itself  and  the  position  of  the  opposing  battle- 
lines. 

The  Vosges  Mountains,  rising  grandly  from  the  plains 
of  Alsace,  presented  a  natural  barrier  to  the  advance  into 
France  of  any  invader  from  the  east.  Many  of  the  peaks 
attain  a  height  of  well  over  three  thousand  feet  above  the 
plains,  and  the  sheer,  rugged  summits,  snow-capped  till 
late  in  June,  offer  a  wonderful  sight  for  the  lover  of 
mountain  scenery.  Roughly  speaking,  the  French,  after 
August,  1 9 14,  held  the  western  slopes  and  most  of  the 
crests  of  these  mountains,  and  the  Germans  held  the 

509 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


plains  stretching  away  eastward  to  the  Rhine.  The  city 
of  Thann,  regained  for  France  by  her  army  in  the  first 
month  of  the  war,  lies  at  the  point  where  the  valley  of 
the  Thur  River  opens  out  to  the  southward  into  the  plains, 
and  it  was  along  this  valley,  which  stretched  away  for 
thirty  kilometres  to  the  north  of  Thann,  that  the  French 
brought  up  their  supplies  and  ammunition  for  the  troops 
holding  this  sector.  In  order  to  reach  the  lines  from  this 
valley,  it  was  necessary  to  climb  over  the  mountains  inter- 
vening between  it  and  the  German-held  plains,  and  this 
was  done  by  pack-mules  on  narrow  military  roads  which 
sometimes  averaged  fourteen  per  cent  grade  through- 
out their  entire  length  of  twelve  to  fifteen  kilometres. 
Endless  cables  and  buckets  were  also  used  to  transport 
the  supplies  and  wounded  up  and  down  these  mountains. 

Such,  then,  was,  in  general,  the  sector  in  which  Sec- 
tions Three  and  Nine  had  worked  for  twenty  months,  and 
for  which,  upon  their  departure  in  the  late  autumn  of 
19 1 6,  Commandant  Doumenc  called  on  the  Field  Serv- 
ice to  supply  other  ambulances.  After  the  departure  of 
Section  Nine,  the  French  had  endeavored  to  do  this  work 
with  one  of  their  own  sections,  using  their  usual  heavy 
ambulances;  but  the  effort  had  proved  unsatisfactory, 
and  the  arrangement  was  finally  made  that  six  Fords 
should  be  sent  out,  to  be  attached  to  this  same  French 
section  —  the  Fords  to  do  the  evacuation  work  from  the 
pastes  to  the  valley,  and  the  French  section  to  take  up  the 
work  from  the  valley  to  the  rear.  Such  was  the  birth  of 
the  Vosges  Detachment. 

In  December,  19 16,  Louis  Hall  left  Paris  with  a  ca- 
mionnette  and  six  ambulances  driven  by  Hamersley, 
Ward,  Nordhoff,  Miller,  Howe,  and  du  Bouchet.^  The 
convoy  pushed  through  to  Rupt-sur-iMoselle  where  the 
automobile  pare  of  the  Seventh  French  Army  was  located, 

^  Vivian  du  Bouchet  of  Paris,  France;  worked  in  American  Hospital  at 
Neuilly  from  the  beginning  of  the  war;  joined  the  American  Field  Service 
September,  1915;  served  in  Section  Two  and  in  the  Vosges  Detachment; 
subsequently  enHsted  in  the  U.S.  Infantry  as  a  private;  killed  in  action 
May  10,  1918. 


VOSGES  DETACHMENT 


and  a  stop  of  about  a  week  was  made  at  this  place.  Hall 
reported  to  Commandant  Arboux,  the  Chef  of  the  Auto- 
mobile Service  of  the  Seventh  Army,  and  received  orders 
tD  take  his  detachment  to  Wilier  for  billeting  and  to  re- 
port to  the  Medecin  Divisionnaire  of  the  52d  Division  of 
French  Infantry  for  duty.  The  Detachment  began  its 
service  the  next  day.  Comfortable  quarters  were  found 
for  the  men  in  Wilier,  and  Hall  lived  and  messed  with 
the  Medecin  Chef  of  the  G.B.D.  of  the  Division.  One 
ambulance  was  assigned  to  duty  at  the  ''Ambulance 
Alpine"  at  Mittlach,  near  Metzeral,  thirty-six  kilo- 
metres from  the  cantonment;  one  at  Larchey,  at  the 
"Ambulance  Nenette,"  and  one  at  Hoche,  another 
branch  of  the  "Ambulance  Alpine,"  with  call  postes  at 
"Bains  Douches"  and  "Colardelle,"  two  regimental  aid 
stations  at  the  foot  of  Hartmannsweilerkopf.  Call  postes 
were  also  established  at  Thann,  Vieux  Thann,  Goldbach, 
Haag,  and  Markstein.  Most  of  these  latter  were  artillery 
postes  and  required  little  attention.  The  wounded  were 
taken  to  hospitals  at  Moosch,  Saint-Amarin,  Urbes,  and 
some  few  back  over  the  Col  de  Bussang  into  France  to 
Le  Thillot. 

The  trips  in  this  sector  were  unusually  long  and  the 
grades  up  and  down  the  mountains  very  severe.  On  both 
the  climbs  up  to  Hoche  and  over  to  Mittlach,  the  lit- 
tle Fords  would  be  in  low  gear  for  half  an  hour  at  a 
stretch,  and  it  was  frequently  necessary  to  change  the 
water  in  the  radiator  two  or  three  times  on  one  trip.  In 
order  to  keep  the  gasoline  consumption  as  low  as  possible, 
the  needle  valves  of  the  carburetors  would  be  closed  at 
the  top  of  each  descent  and  the  car  allowed  to  coast 
down  against  the  engine  as  a  brake.  Naturally  the  wear 
on  the  transmission  bands  was  tremendous,  and  in  order 
to  equalize  it  the  following  method  was  employed:  The 
low-speed  band  was  worn  during  the  climbs;  the  reverse 
band  was  used  very  lightly  as  a  brake  during  the  straight- 
away descents;  the  foot-brake  was  used  only  at  corners 
and  on  the  steepest  portions  of  the  hills;  and  the  emer- 

511 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


gency  brake  was  strictly  reserved  for  real  emergencies. 
In  this  way  the  bands  were  made  to  last  for  as  much  as 
ten  days  or  two  weeks,  but  naturally  the  wear  on  the  cars 
under  such  conditions  was  excessive,  and  it  was  found 
necessary  at  different  times  to  replace  the  ambulances. 

Work  in  Winter 

Much  snow  fell  during  the  winter  and  the  weather  was 
verv  cold,  so  that  some  of  the  mountain  roads  became 
quite  impassable  and  certain  pastes  had  to  be  given  up. 
Mittlach,  Haag,  and  Goldbach  were  not  visited  from  the 
end  of  January  till  the  beginning  of  April.  The  poste  at 
Hoche,  however,  was  attended  all  through  the  winter. 
Sometimes  not  more  than  two  blesses  could  be  carried 
at  one  time,  and  frequently,  even  with  this  light  load, 
the  ambulances  had  to  be  assisted  over  icy  portions  of 
the  grades  by  friendly  poilus.  By  April,  matters  became 
better  and  the  regular  service  was  resumed. 

In  May  the  original  Detachment  began  to  break  up  as 
the  engagements  of  the  men  ran  out,  and  by  the  middle 
of  June  an  entire  new  personnel  was  in  the  Detachment 
consisting  of  Greenwood,  in  charge,  and  Richards,  Colie, 
Lindsey,  Harrington,  Wilson,  and  Phinney,  as  drivers. 
These  men  carried  on  the  work  until  the  beginning  of 
August,  when  orders  were  received  to  take  the  Detach- 
ment to  Rupt,  where  it  was  to  be  joined  by  new  men  and 
cars  from  Paris  and  organized  into  a  full  twenty-car  Sec- 
tion, which  was  to  take  over  from  the  French  Section 
Eighty- Four  the  entire  work  of  the  sector.  At  Rupt, 
however,  the  orders  were  amended;  the  ambulances  and 
touring-car  were  loaded  on  freight  cars,  and  the  entire 
body  returned  to  Paris,  where  it  was  officially  disbanded 
on  August  9,  1 91 7,  after  eight  months*  service. 

The  work  had  not  been  hard,  but  the  driving  had  been 
far  from  easy,  the  sector  being  certainly  the  most  difficult 
as  regards  driving  of  any  along  the  whole  front,  and  any 
conducteur  who  could  successfully  bring  a  leaded  ambu- 
lance over  the  mountain  from  Mittlach  to  Urbes  on  a 

512 


LE   SERVICE   QUI   NE   S'ARRETE  JAMAIS! 


AT  A   MOUNTAIN    'POSTE"    IN    ALSACE   RECONQUISE 


VOSGES  DETACHIMENT 


dark,  rainy  night  was  surely  entitled  to  a  niche  in  the 
automobilists'  hall  of  fame. 

The  work  of  the  Detachment  also  varied  considerably. 
Ordinarily  the  sector  was  quiet,  and  the  car  at  Hoche 
was  then  relieved  every  forty-eight  hours  and  the  one 
at  Mittlach  every  three  days.  The  drivers  were,  of  course, 
always  supposed  to  be  within  call  of  their  cars,  but  it 
was  easy  for  them  to  obtain  permission  from  the  Medecin 
Chef  of  the  poste  to  be  away  for  an  hour  or  two  at  a  time, 
and  they  could  then  make  interesting  excursions  out  on 
the  slopes  of  Hartmannsweilerkopf  or  into  the  village 
of  Metzeral  and  up  its  surrounding  hills.  Some  of  the 
fiercest  battles  during  the  French  advance  into  Alsace  took 
place  at  these  two  points,  and  it  was  intensely  interesting 
to  visit  the  scenes  of  these  struggles  and  discover  un- 
expectedly gun  emplacements  and  trenches  hidden  in 
the  woods.  Boche  and  French  aeroplanes  were  overhead 
daily,  as  each  side  kept  a  close  watch  on  his  adversary, 
and  air  battles  were  of  frequent  occurrence.  One  German 
airman  fell  in  flames  in  a  field  close  to  the  poste  at  Mitt- 
lach, and  shortly  after  a  Hun  machine  gun,  pieces  of  a 
propeller,  an  iron  cross,  and  other  souvenirs  made  their 
appearance  in  the  American  cantonment  at  Alollau. 

Spells  of  Hard  Work 

The  service  was  not  all  play,  however,  by  any  means, 
and  when  a  French  or  Boche  coup  de  main  occurred,  the 
Vosges  Detachment  had  plenty  of  hard  work.  Picture  a 
perfect  summer  evening,  the  sun  an  hour  set  behind  the 
mountains  and  the  beautiful  afterglow  lighting  up  the 
few  clouds  in  the  sky.  The  peaceful  little  village  of  Mollau 
is  just  preparing  to  turn  in  for  the  night.  In  the  distance 
one  begins  to  hear  the  rumbling  of  thunder,  and  before 
darkness  has  finally  settled,  a  terrific  summer  storm  is 
sweeping  up  the  valley.  It  passes  over,  leaving  behind  a 
steady  downpour  of  rain,  but  as  the  thunder  gradually 
dies  away  a  new  sound  takes  its  place  —  the  rolling,  re- 
verberating, reechoing  roar  of  a  barrage  up  in  the  moun- 

513 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


tains.  Everybody  is  up  and  about,  for  something  is 
evidently  doing  up  toward  "Hartmanns."  Then  is  heard 
the  telephone  bell  in  the  office  at  Mollau,  and  an  order 
comes  to  send  all  available  cars  to  the  poste  at  Hoche, 
whereupon  the  Chef  sets  out  in  his  staff  car  followed  by 
the  ambulances.  The  run  along  the  valley  to  Wilier  is 
quickly  made,  but  then  begins  the  fourteen-kilometre 
climb  up  the  mountain.  A  steady  rain,  wet,  narrow,  steep, 
curving,  slippery  roads,  long  convoys  of  pack-mules, 
artillery  caissons,  and  ravitaillement  wagons  make  the 
trip  up  a  difficult  one,  indeed,  especially  as  after  a  certain 
point  is  reached  no  lights  of  any  description  may  be 
used.  Arrived  finally  at  the  poste,  the  first  word  is  obtained 
as  to  what  has  happened,  and  we  learn  that  the  Boches 
have  taken  advantage  of  the  storm  to  lay  over  a  heavy 
barrage  and  try  a  coup  de  main,  with  a  net  result  for  the 
French  of  two  killed,  seven  wounded,  and  no  prisoners. 
Four  of  the  blesses  are  at  Hoche  itself,  and  these  are 
loaded  into  an  ambulance  and  started  on  their  way  down 
to  the  hospital  at  jNIoosch.  The  three  others  are  down  at 
Colardelle  in  an  ambulance  that  cannot  pull  the  grade 
to  come  back  to  Hoche.  Two  of  the  men  afoot  push  on 
the  two  kilometres  to  the  regimental  poste,  where  they 
find  the  Medecin  Chef  raving  crazy  because  he  has 
loaded  three  couches  into  an  ambulance  that  cannot  move, 
the  low-speed  band  having  burned  out.  So  there  is  nothing 
else  to  do  but  for  the  two  Americans,  two  brancardiers, 
and  the  Medecin  Chef  to  join  forces  and  push  the  loaded 
ambulance  all  the  way  up  the  muddy  road  to  Hoche, 
whence  it  can  coast  down  the  other  side  of  the  mountain 
to  the  triage  at  Wilier.  Nor  is  it  an  easy  task  to  push  a 
loaded  Ford  ambulance  up  a  steep  hill  on  a  slippery, 
muddy  road,  at  2  a.m.  on  a  rainy  night!  At  Hoche  no 
more  blesses  have  come  in,  so  the  chef  serves  a  round  of 
hot  tea  and  rum  to  every  one,  two  ambulances  are  left 
at  the  poste  in  case  any  more  work  develops,  and  the 
staff  car  rolls  its  way  back  down  to  Mollau  to  close  the 
night's  work  at  4  a.m.  Punctuate  and  illumine  this  de- 

514 


VOSGES  DETACHMENT 


scription  with  a  fairly  heavy  bombardment,  plenty  of 
star-shells,  and  roads  which  have  a  sheer  drop  of  several 
hundred  feet  from  the  outside  edge,  and  a  fair  idea  of  an 
active  night  in  this  sector  will  be  obtained. 

The  Americans  made  many  friends  among  both  the 
soldiers  and  the  civilians  in  the  sector,  and  many  are  the 
stories  that  could  be  told,  some  sad  and  others  amusing, 
to  show  how  warmly  the  amhulanciers  were  regarded  by 
both  the  French  and  Alsatians.  Richard  Hall,  a  member 
of  Section  Three,  and  brother  of  Louis  Hall,  the  Chef  of 
the  Detachment,  had  been  killed  on  Christmas  Eve,  191 5, 
by  a  German  shell  on  the  road  to  Hoche  and  had  been 
buried  in  the  little  military  cemetery  at  Moosch.  When 
the  Vosges  Detachment  arrived  a  year  later,  they  found 
two  young  Alsatian  girls  of  a  well-to-do  family  of  Aloosch 
carefully  tending  the  grave  and  seeing  that  it  was  always 
well  kept  and  covered  with  fresh  flowers. 

Good  Times  at  the  Front 

The  sector  was  a  quiet  one  during  1917,  and  many  "con- 
certs" and  entertainments  were  given  by  the  soldiery. 
Always  ''les  americains''  were  invited  and  good  seats 
reserved  for  them.  Whenever  the  Chefs  visited  the  differ- 
ent pastes,  they  w^ere  always  pressed  to  stay  for  dejeuner 
or  dinner  by  the  Medecm  Chef,  and  the  meal  was  invaria- 
bly turned  into  a  small  fete.  At  Mittlach  the  drivers  were 
frequently  asked  to  eat  at  the  Medecin  Chefs  popote,  and 
at  the  different  popotes  at  Wilier,  at  Saint-Amarin,  at 
Nenette,  the  Americans  were  always  welcome.  On  the 
4th  of  July,  Commandant  Arboux  sent  a  message  of 
felicitation  to  the  Detachment,  and  that  night  the  Ameri- 
cans gave  a  dinner  to  which  they  invited  the  officers  of 
S.S.  Eighty-Four,  and  at  which  the  citizens  of  Mollau 
presented  them  with  a  huge  formal  bouquet.  The  pres- 
entation was  made  by  an  Alsatian  girl  in  full  national 
costume,  and  all  the  Americans  insisted  on  thanking  her 
in  person  on  both  cheeks.  The  Detachment  was  also  host 
on  the  4th  to  all  the  men  of  the  French  section  at  an 

515 


THE  AMERICAN  FIELD  SERVICE 


afternoon  party,  at  which  wine,  cakes,  and  cigarettes  were 
served.  One  of  the  driv^ers  in  the  French  section  was 
Charliez,  the  leader  of  the  orchestra  at  the  Cafe  de  Paris 
in  Paris,  and  he  supplied  music  on  his  violin  for  many  of 
these  festivities,  the  musical  selections  ranging  all  the 
way  from  Chopin  to  "Annie  Rooney."  On  the  14th  of 
July,  S.S.  Eighty-Four  had  a  wonderful  party  which 
lasted  almost  continuously  from  11.30  a.m.  till  10  p.m., 
and  the  Americans  were  enthusiastic  guests.  On  this 
occasion  all  the  citizens  of  the  valley  were  in  the  full 
national  Alsatian  costume;  American,  French,  and  Allied 
flags  were  seen  everywhere ;  band  concerts  were  given  in 
many  of  the  towns ;  and  wherever  the  Americans  appeared.- 
they  were  greeted  with  cheers.  In  fact,  this  friendly  feel- 
ing between  French  and  Americans  is  one  of  the  pleasant- 
est  souvenirs  of  our  sojourn  in  Alsace. 

The  Vosges  Detachment  made  no  records  for  "num- 
ber of  blesses  carried,"  nor  for  the  "number  of  kilometres 
run,"  but  it  played  its  part  in  the  game  all  the  same.  It 
kept  alive  in  the  minds  of  the  Alsatians  the  knowledge 
that  America  was  with  them  in  spirit  even  before  we 
entered  the  war;  it  maintained  the  good  feeling  that  all 
the  French  officers  and  poilus  had  for  the  American  vol- 
unteers; and  it  did  its  work  in  the  true  spirit  of  the 
American  Field  Service  —  that  of  helping  France  no  mat- 
ter what  the  work  or  where  it  led. 

Joseph  R.  Greenwood  ^ 


1  Of  New  York  City,  Princeton,  '05;  served  in  Section  Eight  of  the 
Field  Service,  February  to  June,  19 17,  the  Vosges  Detachment,  June  to 
August,  and  Section  Fifteen,  from  October  to  November,  1917;  became  a 
First  Lieutenant  and  subsequently  Captain,  U.S.A.  Ambulance  Service, 
commanding  first  a  Section,  then  a  Pare. 


END  OF  VOLUME  I 


COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARIES 

This  book  is  due  on  the  date  indicated  below,  or  at  the 
expiration  of  a  definite  period  after  the  date  of  borrowing, 
as  provided  by  the  rules  of  the  Library  or  by  special  ar- 
rangement with  the  Librarian  in  charge. 


— 

DATE   BORROWED 

DATE  DUE 

DATE   BORROWED 

DATE   DUE 

■  '-'i 

■'^f^^■ 

OFFiCiv..-- 

,-,    \    ^^ 

C2e(1  140)M100 

ig»\Ttx*\ft. 


History  of  the  American  field 
service  in  Franc e« 


J^^.JV  ytl 


'/Ifc  ,  ^^JJ  A,.  P 


i 

iiii 

i 

en 

H 

< 

O 
J] 

•"" 

Ig^B 

Ln 

